


12 Hours

by pennem



Category: Oasis (Band)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, No Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26335516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennem/pseuds/pennem
Summary: A deserted alley and some bad luck leads to the longest 12 hours of Noel’s life
Relationships: Liam Gallagher & Noel Gallagher
Comments: 44
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**1995**

Hindsight really is 20/20. Looking back, the two of them won’t be able to figure out why they thought it was a good idea.

They’ll end up attributing half of it to the powder variety, and the other half to just being plain idiots.

In the moment, they’re both pleasantly high and only have a couple of drinks between them, and they’re strolling back to their houses at some god awful time of night, falling over themselves laughing. It’s the rare kind of night where they both end up on the same wavelength; Noel is loose and reckless, and Liam is just the right amount of buzzed where he’s on top form, happy to be doing whatever it is that they’re doing. This is where they feed off of each other, trading banter and insults and laughs, feeling unstoppable enough that they don’t even feel the need to bicker and fight.

So when Liam suggests cutting through the alleyway they pass, Noel isn't the voice of reason he usually is. On any other day, he would be quick to point out that it’s the middle of the night and they haven’t passed many people in the past few minutes, and even though they’re not too far from the bar or their houses, they’ve come out without their bodyguards tonight and maybe it’s not the best idea.

But today, he just giggles madly at the way Liam says the word alley, trailing behind as Liam walks ahead, grinning just as wide himself. Noel’s face is flushed pink and his smile is happy and free, and he’ll shoot himself before he ever admits how much he enjoys it when Noel lets his guard down enough to be this carefree.

They get midway through before he gets the niggling feeling that this alley is a lot longer and darker than he’d thought. It feels like they’re suddenly in another world, because the main streets on each side seem a little too far away, and everything feels too quiet.

He’s about to say something to his brother, still giggling behind him, when he senses something flying out towards him from the corner of his eye. He tries to duck, but he’s drunk enough to be slow, and he realizes it’s a fist before something metal smacks into his temple.

Stars explode in his vision, and then he’s on the ground, world going fuzzy around the edges as his head throbs.

He hears Noel yell out his name and start swearing, and there’s grunting and the sounds of struggling, but his world is still swimming and he can feel people pulling at him. He tries to break free, but his limbs suddenly feel like they don’t belong to him anymore.

His world drifts, and then suddenly he’s back. He can feel duct tape on his mouth and his arms are tied, plastic digging into his wrists, someone straddling him for good measure. His eyes land on Noel, right in front of him, blood dripping down his face from a cut over his eyebrow. A meaty hand forces duct tape onto his brothers mouth even has he tries to struggle away. His stomach drops when he sees Noel's tied up and held down too, and the two other pairs of legs standing off to the side.

Their eyes meet and Noel’s harden, seeing Liam in the exact position as him, all of 3 feet apart. They’re tied up and outnumbered and no one seems to have noticed, because all Liam can hear around them is overwhelming silence, broken only by the their own breathing.

Another man strolls out of the shadows, like some fucking movie villain, and Liam almost rolls his eyes despite everything. He’s skinny and scrawny, and smirks at the two of them like they’re trophies.

"Two Gallagher’s for the price of one. This has to be my lucky day."

Noel is glaring up at him too, disdain plain as day on his face. The guy even _sounds_ like some two-bit alleyway villain, scouse accent raspy and lilting. He considers them both, then points at Noel.

“Scream, and I’ll brain you myself.”

There’s a jerk of his head, and the tape is ripped off of his brothers mouth, and he swears at the pain, skin around his lips instantly pink and angry. 

He glares as the guy turns towards Liam, then swears bloody murder as Liam looks at the approaching figure warily.

“You fucking cunt, don't you fucking _dare_ touch him.” He spits out, struggling against the hold on him.

Two-bit turns back, looking half impressed. Liam’s heart thuds in his chest at the flicker of _pleasure_ he sees before he looks away.

“You’re mighty lippy for someone who can’t even move.”

Noel glares at him for a second, and Liam can see the wheels turning in his head. “What do you want? Take my wallet, I have a couple hundred quid in there, and take my watch, and leave us alone.”

He ignores him, crouching down again, seemingly ignoring everything Noel is saying. “I do like it when they fight.”

“Jesus Christ, what is this, the fucking godfather? What the fuck do you _want_ , you..?”

Noel doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, because he’s punched straight in the mouth. His head snaps to the side and he groans, blood dripping from his lip..

“Fucking cunt…” He swears, spitting blood out.

“What I _wanted_ , was an easy target. But instead, I get _both_ of you. And you..” He grabs Noel’s chin roughly, getting right up in his face. “You’re a welcome surprise, aren’t you?”

Liam sees the first flicker of unease in his brothers eyes as he looks back defiantly, but it’s gone as soon as it came, smoothed down under the mask that Noel can always pull out at a drop of a hat.

“Got nothing to say now? What a shame.” He roughly pushes his head away and turns back towards Liam again.

“ _Don’t,_ wait, don’t hurt him.” Noel struggles helplessly, blood steadily dripping from his split lip, spark of fear in his eyes.

“This is sweet, isn’t it, fellas? Protecting his little brother.”

One of the goons snickers and then a vicious kick catches Liam in the ribs, and he gasps behind the tape.

“Jesus, _stop it,_ fucking leave him alone!” Two bit seems to like the pleading tone that’s crept into Noel’s voice, because he does stop, and Liam tries to breathe past the fire in his side. Noel looks at him for a second, brows furrowed, before he turns back to two-bit.

“Look, name your price. We have fucking bodyguards who were with us, who are looking for us right now because we gave them the slip. Let him go, get me to an ATM or summat, I’ll get you what you want, and we can all go our merry ways.”

It’s a bold faced lie, but Noel’s voice doesn’t waver at all. No one knows where they went and no one is looking for them.

“That’s more like it, eh?” Two-bit ignores everything Noel says and strokes his hair, and Liam feels sick. Noel grits his teeth and just glares at him, not moving away. Something about the whole thing sends shivers up Liam’s spine. He can tell this is someone just on the wrong side of unhinged, and the way he’s eyeing his brother makes his stomach crawl. He struggles again, just to get him to stop looking at Noel the way he is, and he turns towards him and the mad edge in his eye instantly has Liam’s heart thudding, even as he feels Noel shoots him a warning look from the corner of his eye.

"Tell you what, I'll give you a choice.” He drawls, after considering Liam for a few seconds.

“Either I stab your little brother and let him bleed out right here." Liam feels his blood run cold just as Noel’s breath hitches and his eyes widen slightly in alarm. “Or, I take this bat to that pretty little hand of yours.”

Noel swallows, looking at the guy like he doesn't want to believe what he's hearing.

"What?"

"See, those are guitarists fingers. Precious, and skilled. A shame if they were taken away." A baseball bat is handed over to him.

Noel looks at him like he’s insane, eyeing the bat. “You can’t be serious.”

A mad cackle. “I look like I’m joking, then?”

There’s a nod and the guy standing next to Liam is moving, and he can’t see him from the floor, but he hears the slick of metal scraping and it makes his teeth feel funny and Noel goes white, staring wide eyed.

“Christ, don’t…” He looks back at two-bit pleadingly, who seems to be enjoying himself. “Fucking, don’t fucking do this, you _have_ to have a price, just fucking name it and I’ll get it to you.”

“I didn’t hear a choice there.” A hand claps around Noel’s mouth again and he struggles madly, eyes going wider, and then suddenly there’s a knife in Liam’s eyeline and he’s trying to jerk back and he can’t, there’s nowhere to go, and his heart is in his throat as his head is pulled back.

Christ, they’re going to slit his throat, and he’s going to die in this fucking alleyway and Noel is going to watch the whole thing.

Through the roaring in his ears, he hears Noel’s muffled voice, and he sounds _terrified,_ but all Liam can see is the knife getting closer and closer, and suddenly it stops.

His own breathing rings in his ears in the silence that follows, and he can’t look away from the knife. He can barely even see it through his suddenly blurry vision. He suddenly can’t hear anything, but he can’t tell if it’s just the ringing or no one is talking, but Noel’s voice filters back in.

“…Christ, fucking stop it, _please_ , you win, fucking break it. Do what you fucking want to me, just get him to put that knife away.” Noel sounds like he’s near tears, breathing hard and shaky. The knife moves away and Liam’s head drops, and he’s shaking horribly, head spinning.

“Say it.”

Noel gasps out something that sounds suspiciously like a sob.

“Break my hand. Do what you want, just don’t fucking hurt him. Give me your word you won’t touch him.”

“That’s more like it.”

Liam blinks rapidly, trying to get his wits about him again, dirty ground still spinning in his vision. He looks up, heart still thudding madly as his brain tries to keep up, and sees Noel’s hands being cut free. Two-bit is standing over him and just waits, face pleased as he picks up the discarded bat. Noel’s breathing hard, but brings his arm out and puts it in front of him, and it’s shaking, fear and dread heavy on his face.

Liam snaps out of it then and struggles _hard_ , calling the cunts every name under the sun. This is a goddamn nightmare, he’s sure of it, he can’t be about to watch this. His ribs burn with every movement and he’s still seeing images if the knife right in front of him, can imagine it cold against his throat, but he’ll be damned if he sits by and watches this happen.

Noel looks at him right as soon as two-bit steps on his wrist to keep it in place.

“Liam.”

It’s the same tone of voice Noel uses on him when he’s acting up for no reason other than to get a rise out of his brother, and it says everything from _stop struggling_ to _I’m sorry I can't see another way out of this_ to _I’ll die before I let anything happen to you._

All that circles in Liam’s mind is _they could stab me right after anyway,_ but he knows it doesn’t matter, because Noel will do what he can to stop it, even if this is all he can do. Liam only has a second to absorb all of that and the overwhelming fear shaded with determination in his brothers eyes before the guy straddling him tapes his mouth shit again, and the bat comes swinging down.

He doesn’t know what sound he’d been expecting, but there’s such an audible crack it makes his blood run cold, and Noel _screams,_ entire body jerking _._ It’s muffled behind the tape but it still makes Liam’s stomach lurch. Two-bit doesn't give him much time, just sneers down at him for all of two seconds before the bat comes down again, and again, and again. It lasts seconds but feels like hours before he steps back, and Noel’s screaming trails off into gasping whimpers, hair matted with sweat and tightly closed eyes a mess of tears.

Liam’s shaking with rage and two-bit just looks at him, eyebrow quirked casually, like he hasn’t just smashed up his brothers hand for no goddamn reason. Liam glares back, imagining the fucking beating he would give him if he wasn’t pinned down. It’s not hard, when Noel is half sobbing on the ground, clearly unable to catch his breath.

Liam imagines breaking his legs, one at a time, Noel’s whimpers still stabbing at his ears.

“If you scream, I’ll stab you myself.”

The second his mouth is uncovered, lips stinging from the tape, he's spitting out a litany of swearing. “I’m going to rip your balls off, you fucking bastard, you fucking _cunt,_ I’m…”

“Oh come now, I barely touched him.” He sneers, carelessly nudging the broken hand with the bat in his hand. It’s barely a tap, but Noel screams behind the tape, choking, eyes screwed shut as he tries to breathe.

“Stop it!! At least stop gagging him, he can’t fucking breathe!”

An unimpressed look down at Noel, and the tape is brutally ripped off.

Noel immediately gasps and coughs, flecks of blood hitting the ground as he wheezes in an attempt to get enough oxygen in. It's wet and painful to watch, but two-bit looks _satisfied_ , and Liam futilely tries to get to his brother.

“Noel? Noel, Christ, breathe through your nose.” His brother is near hyperventilating on the ground, face streaked with tears, bushy eyebrows scrunched in agony. He doesn’t seem to hear him, and Liam sees red as two bit reaches down to touch him, and he struggles madly.

“Don’t _fucking_ touch him, you _cunt_.” If he could kill someone by sheer will, Liam knew the cunt in front of him would be dead. He suddenly knows exactly what he has to do.

“God, you two are so _boring._ I thought you were supposed to hate each other. _”_

“I’ll fucking make it interesting, then.” He spits out, tearing his eyes away from Noel. “Ten million quid. You take me with you, and let him go, and he’ll get it to you.”

That gets his attention. “Ten million?”

“Ten million. You’ve had your fucking fun, you psycho. But we’re still in the middle of fucking London and someone’s going to figure out we’re missing soon enough, and then what?”

“I could just kill the both of you right here.”

Liam grits his teeth. “You really think you’re going to get away with killing the two most famous musicians in England? They will fucking find you and string you all up, and you know it. But take me and hold me until you get your money, you get a big payout, and the police won't care as long as we're both free and unharmed at the end of the day."

“No.” Noel wheezes out from behind two-bit, voice shot to bits and still straining to breathe properly, but Liam doesn’t break eye contact with the cunt in front of him.

"And why would I not take the both of you? This one is so pretty when he cries."

"He has all the money. And he'll pay it to get me back, and fast."

It's not even completely untrue. Noel has the easiest and most access to money, and Liam knows his brother will move mountains to get it as fast as he can if it means saving him. 

Something flickers in two-bits face, and he looks back at Noel. “15 million then. Can he get it to me?”

“No, don’t you fucking dare..” Noel chokes out, looking increasingly alarmed as he starts getting his wits back about him, and a meaty hand comes right back on to silence him. He struggles weakly, glaring bloody murder at Liam, but Liam’s resolve only strengthens when his eyes fall on the rapidly swelling hand lying uselessly on the ground.

Liam looks back and nods. "Just let him go, and he'll get it to you, and I'll come quietly."

Noel’s struggling harder, and Liam can make out swear words. "Ignore him. He'll get it to you."

"You drive a hard bargain." The hope soars in Liam's chest, even as Noel looks at him pleadingly, and Liam vaguely makes out a muffled _don’t do this_. "Let's hope this one follows through."

One second, two-bit is looking down at Noel and Noel is glaring at him with absolute fire in his eyes, like he hadn’t just shattered his fucking hand. The next second, two-bit takes his shoe and casually _grinds_ it into his brother's broken hand. Noel screams again, writhing against the persistent pressure. 

It's over in seconds before Liam can even react, when Noels scream cracks midway, and he makes eye contact with Liam as his face and body go slack. All Liam can do is numbly take in the pain and betrayal and overpowering fear before his eyes roll back into his head, and Liam just knows he's passed out thinking this might be the last time he sees him. He feels tears well in his own eyes despite himself, but he sees two-bit looking down at Noel, _pleased_ , and he knows he’s done the right thing.

Liam grits his teeth to keep his mouth shut. Now that he's passed out, hopefully they'll leave him alone. The guy holding Noel down steps away and Noel’s head thunks to the ground, unmoving, blood smeared all over his mouth.

The next second, there’s a rag over his mouth and he struggles instinctively, but everything goes fuzzy and then dark.


	2. Chapter 2

From what Noel’s been able to piece together, it didn’t take long for someone to find him. The rest of the band verifies that him and Liam had left the bar around 2am, and the two guys who had found him unconscious in the alley had called the police at around 3am. He doesn’t know who they were, but he definitely owes them a very sincere thank you. Literally anyone could have found him and mugged him or god knows what else, but they’d been good guys, who’d immediately called the police and recognizing who he was, had not drawn any attention to him until they had shown up. Even so, the _why the fuck could you not have shown up just a little earlier_ pings bitterly around in his head.

All he remembers is being woken up by someone with dark hair and kind eyes, recognition and horror in their eyes, but all Noel had done was frantically look around for his little brother, start panicking when he didn’t see him and puke his guts out and black out again the second he tried to move and his hand had felt like someone was ripping it apart.

Now, he’s sitting at the end of the hospital bed, legs dangling off the edge and dozed up on painkillers, hyper fixating on the lone streetlight he can see out the window, bright and shimmering in the darkness.

He’d absolutely lost it when he’d woken up in the hospital, and the police had been there to ask him what had happened, and it had taken an embarrassing amount of time to calm down enough to give them his statement and descriptions and answer all their questions. By the end of it, he had gotten his wits about him enough to yell at the nurse who tried to give him morphine and snap at Marcus to get him a private flight to Manchester _now._

The officers had eyed him warily, and Noel had abruptly told them that he didn’t intend to let his mother find out about her youngest son over the phone, and if they intended to stop him, they could arrest him. Something in the taller man’s eyes had softened, and that had been that.

Once they’d left, Marcus had tried to talk him out of going to Manchester, and Noel had ripped into him, steadfastly ignoring how much his hand hurt, in a simple brace and sling at the moment.

In his head, he knows he wasn’t and likely still isn’t thinking straight, but the thought of his brother in the hand of some goons, who’d laid into him without a second thought and shattered his hand just because they knew how important it was to him, has him wanting to explode out of his skin with anxiety. They could be doing literally _anything_ to him right now, and he’s in goddamned hospital, trying to get back to Manchester so he can bring his family back to wait for the police to find him.

The doctor had come back with his x-rays in the middle of his tirade, and started going on and on about his cracked rib and bruising and multiple hand fractures. The second the word surgery had been thrown out, he’d absolutely lost it, and had to be physically restrained from attacking the poor doctor.

His hand is properly splinted and casted up and in a sling now, some stronger than standard grade painkillers taking the worst of the edge off, and the streetlight is starting to make his eyes ache. Something about his unhinged behavior clearly struck a chord somewhere, because there’s a private flight being arranged, and the hospital is arranging his discharge and scheduling his surgery in two days. The words _risk of impaired hand function_ ring in his head, but he very intentionally tosses them out; he can’t be under and confined to a hospital bed while Liam is missing.

 _Missing_.

His streetlight fixation works very well; he ignores absolutely everything. All thoughts of Liam, the ache in his hand and rib, the exhaustion thrumming in his very being, the possibility that his music career may have just ended, it all vanishes as a meaningless tune plays in his head.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but he’s jolted out of his head when Marcus walks in and tells him he’s good to go and his flight has been arranged, and then he’s out of the room faster than anyone can blink.

* * *

The flight is only an hour, but it’s absolute murder on his injuries. Even walking up the stairs to the plane, he has to double over halfway to catch his breath against the pain in his side. He sits up front, and all the bodyguards and entourage sit with a row between them, wisely giving him a wide berth. He curls up in his seat, keeping his sunglasses on despite it being some ungodly hour of night, and resolutely stares out the window the whole way, trading the streetlight for moonlit illuminated clouds that he can barely make out.

It works, until his split lip starts stinging and his hand and ribs start throbbing with every jolt of the plane. He forces himself to ignore his face and ribs, but he can _feel_ tendrils of pain flow from his palm to the tips of his fingers, can feel exactly where that goddamned cunt had smashed into his hand. _Fingers, fingers, palm, palm,_ four hits with no hesitation, and then all he can hear is the cracking and his own screaming ringing in his ears, and all he can see is flashes of Liam struggling to get to him, furious and concerned and _scared_.

If anyone notices him curl up even more and dig his fingers into his eyes under his glasses, breath hitching and shoulders shaking, they don’t say anything, and leave him to his silent tears.

* * *

The sun is rising by the time Marcus pulls up this childhood home, and Noel is just now realizing how late (early?) it is. Marcus just waits silently as Noel gasps in the backseat, face buried in his good hand as he tries to figure out how he’s going to let his mother know he let her youngest, her baby, get taken and didn’t do anything to protect him.

He hyperventilates for a good minute, and then forces himself out of the car without a word.

If you asked him later how he told her, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. All he’ll remember is her face going white when she sees the state he’s in, at her door in the middle of the night, bruised and in the same clothes he’d gotten attacked in. He’ll remember her going even whiter when he tells her, and crying into his shoulder as he numbly comforts her, eyes resolutely fixed into a corner of his childhood living room so he doesn’t have to think about the memories and how he may never see Liam in here again. He’ll remember numbly planning everything out to calm his racing mind; he’ll give her two more minutes to cry, then go throw some things for her into a suitcase and take her and Paul back to London.

His mother follows him around, seeming lost and overwhelmed, as he packs up some things for her. He calls the number the police had given him from the phone in her bedroom and asks if they have anything, and has to resist the urge to throw something across the room when they tell him they have nothing. No ransom call, no leads, no _nothing_. There’s officers at his house, at Liam’s house, at the creation offices, literally anywhere where Liam might have given as the number for the ransom call, but absolutely fucking _nothing_.

His mam is sitting right there on the bed, looking like the smallest thing will break her, so he swallows down the rage and hangs up.

The smell he always associates with her hangs heavy in his nose as he throws random things in a bag for her. It’s normally very comforting, but today, it makes his skin itch. He’s not sure what she even needs, but finds he has no voice to ask, the silence in the room stifling. He ends up tossing the sling aside and gritting his teeth against the pain.

His mother sits there quietly, staring at nothing, until he starts struggling to zip her bag up with one functional hand. Even without the sling, his fingers are splinted and immovable. Instantly, she’s down next to him, zipping it up for him and he gets up before she can do or say anything. He can’t handle any of it, so he quickly goes down the hall to his old bedroom, resolutely ignoring anything of Liam’s in there and rummaging in the closet until he finds something that will still fit him.

He can hear Liam’s voice in his head, _it’ll all still fit and ye know it ye midget,_ and he ignores it, and quickly changes into a fresh sweatshirt and jeans. He barely glances at the blood stained shirt as he tosses it aside, knowing he’s never going to wear it again, takes a steadying breath, and goes to get his mother and race back to the airport.

* * *

He calls again at the private lounge while he waits for Bonehead to show up with Paul, and when there’s still nothing, he gives into his nerves and smashes the phone against the base once, twice, thrice before he tosses it back in. He can feel his mother’s eyes on him, but he resolutely ignores her, grinds his palms into his eyes and tries to calm down.

Bonehead and Paul arrive the next second, and Paul looks white and shaken as he meets Noels eyes. They don’t say anything to each other, but Paul glances at the broken phone next to him and his face goes even grimmer and he looks away, and Noel has to swallow and hope he imagined the flicker of accusation he thinks he just saw.


	3. Chapter 3

The flight back is somehow even worse; he’s forgotten his sling and doesn’t know where the fuck his sunglasses are, and spends the whole thing feeling horribly exposed, especially now that there’s morning light streaming into the whole plane. His mother sits right next to him, and he bites down the urge to ask her to leave him alone, has to keep reminding himself that Liam is her son and she deserves to have her questions answered and not be treated like shit by her other sons.

He puts up with it until the plane shaking starts getting to him, and then all he can manage is to nod or shake his head or just grunt, the pain in his side just bad enough to make him grit his teeth.

He ends up getting sick again ten minutes in and puking up whatever little he’d managed to shove into his mouth earlier, and then just stays in the tiny plane bathroom the rest of the flight, dully slumped over the toilet seat in the only position that doesn’t make him want to throw up again.

Nobody bothers him, which suits him just fine, but he catches sight of himself in the mirror once they’re about to land and has to gape for a second.

The bandaged cut over his eye and his split lip aren’t the anomaly; it’s the absolutely dead look in his eyes and the stubble he never lets grow in. Everything stands out garishly with how pale he is, and he stubbornly chalks it up to the bad bathroom lighting, throws some water over his face and walks out, on a mission to find the nearest phone.

* * *

They’re back at his house a little more than four hours after he’d left the hospital, but it feels like it’s been an entire week.

The police make another visit and ask him more questions and take down more descriptions, and he gives them everything he can think of and more. Going back to the whole thing and _trying_ to remember details makes his heart pick up and his hand throb, but he grits his teeth and does it, _they need it to find Liam_ ringing in his head the whole time. He doesn’t think he’s ever going to forget the sound of his bones cracking.

His lips burn with the urge to scream and demand answers, because it’s been 7 _goddamn hours_ and nothing has changed. The fact that there’s been no ransom call has his teeth on edge, and they assure him that kidnappers normally let a few hours pass for exactly this reason, to make everyone nervous so they’re more likely to hand money over.

As far as Noel’s concerned, it fucking works. He’s already yelled at some people, had done before he even got on his flight to Manchester, and there’s an obscene amount of money ready to go the second he has a guarantee that Liam is safe, and he can go get his cunt of a brother and make him pay it all back to him.

Somehow, by some stroke of luck and what Noel imagines is lot of bribes, word hasn’t gotten out about the whole thing. He’d been nearly hysterical at the thought that the people who had Liam might panic if there was a media frenzy and hurt him, and he’d been assured that everything would be handled discreetly. The police, in plain clothes to keep everything under wraps, are adamant that this was a random attack based on what Noel’s told them, and that people like them tend to be clumsy and careless and always slip up. Noel hangs on to every word, trying to suss out if he’s being led on, but so far they seem to be telling the truth and he hopes to god they’re right in the end.

It’s just gone 9 by the time Noel emerges from the sitting room where they’d been, mentally drained and shaky. It feels like he’s spent the last hour right back in that alley, bound and gagged and what he’s now registering was essentially being tortured.

It does his head in a bit to think about it, that this is an actual thing that’s happened to him, and that his brother is fucking _missing._ It’s like some nightmare he’s found himself caught in, and there’s no way out of it until they find Liam.

There’s too many people in the living room that look up at him when he comes out, his mam and Paul and the rest of the band and Marcus and various other people from their entourage, and Noel’s chest burns with the urge to tell them all to fuck off out of his house.

He does, and it feels good, and he goes straight to the kitchen, skin crawling with anxiety and the urge to get away from all the eyes he can feel staring at him.

7 hours.

It’s been _7 hours_.

It’s even brighter in the kitchen than it was in the sitting room, the morning light cheery and mocking. He gets some biscuits and struggles to open them with one hand, before he swears and yanks the packet open with his teeth, and half of them fall on the counter. He ignores them and forces himself to eat a couple, wincing as they burn going down his throat. He’s really done a number on it with all the screaming, but he can tell he’s at the point where he should be absolutely starving, even as he nearly gags swallowing them down.

He’s staring aimlessly at the packet when his mam walks in, and he can tell it’s her just by the determined gait in her footsteps, and when he looks up at her, something in her face immediately fills him with dread.

“Tell me what happened.”

The urge to just sink to the floor hits him so hard it nearly takes his breath away, but he settles for gripping the counter so hard his knuckles go white. 

“I already did.”

“No.” She snaps, stopping on the other side of the counter, pointing a finger at him. “No, I don’t want the watered down story you’ve given me. I want the truth.”

“I can’t.” He chokes out. It sounds pathetic even to his own ears, but he thinks he’s going to completely lose it if he has to think about it anymore. “Mam, I can’t go over it again. Just, please - what does it matter in the end?”

“It matters! It matters to me. He’s my son!”

“So am I!” It bursts out of nowhere, but he’s so _tired,_ and he feels tears well up in his eyes. “I was there too, mam, and I’m trying to hold it together, but I can’t-“

“Do not yell at me, Noel.”

“Alright..alright, I’m sorry, I didn’t-“ He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, ignoring the way it makes his ribs twinge, and desperately tries not to lose it right then and there. When he opens them Paul’s there too, looking between them with trepidation, but no one pays him any attention. “I didn’t mean to yell, I just, I can’t think about it anymore, please don't make me. I _swear_ , I’ve told you what was important.”

“Stop _lying_ to me.” She snaps. “Why has some officer just told me that these people had _knives_?”

Noel’s breathing stutters as her words immediately make him remember the noise of the knife getting pulled out, the slick of the metal ringing in his ears, and a flash of Liam’s absolutely terrified face invading his vision. It must show on his face, and it’s all the confirmation his mam needs, and her face falls and she pales.

“They had knives.” She mutters, to herself more than anything. “They have Liam and they had knives.”

* * *

Paul had rushed in the second he’d heard raised voices and Liam’s name, and now, his head buzzes uncomfortably at the thought of _knives_. His mother goes pale, like she’s going to faint, and both of them rush towards her. Paul gets there first and holds her up, but she stays steady and edges away from Noel right as he gets to her too. Paul watches his face drop as he backs a step away, and he looks so hurt for a second it makes something funny in him flip, but then it’s gone.

“Mam, why don’t you go lie down?” Paul says gently, and she pushes him away too, eyes angry and sad.

“I don’t need to lie down, I want the truth.” She snaps, eyes hard as they whip back to Noel. “Why were you in that alley? Was it for drugs?”

“What-no! I don’t need to be in some.. back alley to get drugs.”

“ _Whores_ , then?”

“No!”

“Then _why_?”

“Why does it ma-“

“Why did you not stop him? Why would you go down some bloody dark alley in the middle of the night?”  
  
“I don’t know! We..we didn’t think..”

“You didn’t think. Our Liam is missing because you didn’t think, with your millions and millions, that that was a stupid thing to do.”

Noel opens his mouth, angry frown on his face, but she cuts him off.

“You’re older than him, you're meant to _protect_ him.”

“He’s a bloody grown man, I’m not his damned _keeper_.”

“You’re meant to protect him!”  
  
“I tried! Do you really think I stood by and let him just…get abducted without trying to stop them?”

“What I see, is you standing there, and your little brother is missing. That’s what I see.”

“Mam!” Paul gasps out, shocked at how quickly it's escalating, even for them. It’s like Liam being out of the picture has thrown all their old dynamics out the window. “Hey, let’s all calm-“

“So, what, then?” Noel demands, voice shaky, anger clearly masking hurt. “It’s my fault?”

“No, nobody’s saying that, Noel…” Paul starts, but they both interrupt him at the same time.

“That’s what I’m fucking hearing!”

“Why did they take him and not you?”

“I don’t know! I told you, I don’t know! I tried to bargain with them and offer them money, but-“ There’s a frustrated groan. “I don't know why they wouldn’t listen to me. But they listened to him, and I don’t know why!”

Noel’s rambling now, looking at the both of them beseechingly.

“I tried to stop him. You have to believe me, I _did_ , they wouldn’t listen to me and you know what he's like, _he_ wouldn’t listen to me and-”

“What do you mean?” Their mam interrupts, voice even and dangerous, and Paul flinches despite himself. He’s only heard that tone out of her a handful of times in his life.

Noel swallows, and his lip wobbles. Their mam doesn’t let up for a second.

“What do you mean, he wouldn’t listen to you?”

When Noel speaks, it’s soft and sad. “He was trying to protect me.”

There’s a shaky intake of breath, and she suddenly looks as small as she really is.

“You’ve let them take Liam. That boy doesn’t keep his mouth shut on a bloody good day, what…he’s going to mouth off and they’re going to hurt him. How could you have _let this happen?”_

She sounds like she’s going to start crying, Noel looks like she’s just slapped him in the face and he’s going to start crying, and Paul sure as hell feels like crying. The tension in the room is suddenly suffocating.

“Mam. Let’s go upstairs.”

She tries to edge away, but he holds firm, and leads her out of the room, unable to stand how hurt Noel looks for a second longer.

* * *

He finds Noel standing outside in the small yard, smoking a cigarette. His hand is shaking.

“She didn’t mean it. You know she didn’t.” There’s a bitter chuckle as Paul walks over to stand next to him. Noel's face is set hard and closed off.

“She fucking well did.” He scoffs, taking a drag and pointedly not looking at him, shoulders tense. “And she fucking should. She’s right.”

“Noel..she’s just worried-”  
  
“What?" Accusing eyes turn to him, and it's the same mix of anger and sadness he'd just seen in their mothers', except the blue here is shiny with hurt. " You’re gonna pretend like you’ve not been thinking the exact same fucking thing?”

Noel’s mouth twists into something ugly, like he’s going to cry or unleash some rage onto everything around him, and he just hasn’t decided which yet.

“I know you, right?” Paul says placatingly, knowing the train this is heading down, and all he can think is _I'm not Liam._ “And I don’t need to know everything, I know you did your best.”

“Did my best..this isn’t a fucking school project, Paul!” He spits out. So rage, then. _I'm not Liam._ “Did my best counts for fuckall, this is our fucking kid we’re talking about.”

“I know..”

“No, you don’t fucking know! You weren’t there!”

There’s a startled hiss of pain and Noel jerks, dropping the cigarette he’d just clenched his fist on. He angrily stamps it out in the grass, rubbing his palm against his jeans.

“Noel. I wasn’t there, but I know it wasn’t your fault. No one thinks that.”

“No one important.” He laughs, bitter and hurt, and sucks at the small burn mark on his hand. “Just our mother.”

“She doesn’t, I promise you. She’s just worried. You know what she’s like, she’ll calm down and come tell you herself.”

He shakes his head, looking away. “You didn’t have to look her in the eye while she told you it was all your fucking fault.”

There’s a very long silence where Noel stares angrily at a bush, wound up so tight he seems like he’ll snap, and Paul stands by quietly, listening to the birds chirping. It’s the nicest morning he’s seen in a while, and it only makes the whole thing feel more fucked up.

“I tried to stop him. I don’t know what he was _fucking_ thinking..” Noel rages abruptly, jaw set tight and hand gesturing angrily.

“Noel…”

“No, everyone wants to know what happened eh? Every fucking cunt is _dying_ to know exactly what fucking happened and how old Noely let his brother get fucking _kidnapped._ Like I have some magic fucking wand that can keep that twat of trouble, and I just decide not to..not to fucking use it?”

Paul sighs, but Noel keeps going. “We decide to be stupid, and go down this dark alleyway, and this gang of cunts decide they’re going to fucking have some fun with us, and I hope they had a good time, because I sure as fuck didn’t.”

Noel roughly rakes his hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up oddly. “Fuck _me_. I offered them every goddamn thing under the sun. I offered them money, and they wouldn’t fucking take it, then they put a honest to god knife to his throat, and then I _really_ offered them whatever the fuck they wanted, and they _still_ wouldn’t take it.”

The words _knife_ and _throat_ buzz uncomfortably in Paul’s ears.

“And Liam.” His voice cracks, name flowing out bitter and frustrated. “That fucking bastard. This fucking twat, he can’t string up two words together on a good day, right, and he fucking convinces them to _take him._ Pleads his case like some fucking _lawyer_ , to the people who’d wanted to stab him dead two seconds ago.”

“Jesus Christ. Fucking - I can’t believe this is happening. I got my hand fucking smashed to bits to save that fucking cunt, and they _still_ fucking took him. Fuck!” The lighter that Noel had taken out mid rant gets launched at the fence, and it bounces off and falls to the ground harmlessly.

Paul’s still staring at Noel, head ringing as he watches him quite honestly completely fall apart, his mind very helpfully taking in all the gory details he hadn’t wanted to know and recreating it for him.

Noel’s looking at the lighter in the grass now, breathing hard and eyes unfocused. All the rage is suddenly gone.

“What happened to your hand?” It slips out before he can stop it, but Paul’s shaken up enough listening to this that he can’t help it, staring at the casted hand. He doesn’t want to know, and morbidly he also does.

“They took a bat to it.”

The casted hand twitches even as he says it, voice deadpan and breath hitching as he continues to stares sightlessly.

Paul inhales shakily, imagination still working on overdrive to fill in the pieces. “Jesus Christ.”

There’s a very dead look to his brother’s pale face and he doesn’t move or look away from whatever it is he’s staring at, but his hands are shaking and his breathing starts getting more and more stilted.

“Noel? Noel you should sit down.”

Noel gasps in a breath, like he’d suddenly forgotten to breathe, face immediately settling into something like panic and eyes immediately welling up with tears even as they keep staring off into the distance. “What are we going to do if they can’t find him?”

“They’ll find him. Don’t think like that.”

“All they have to go on is what I told them and I know fuck all. They know I’ve seen their faces, they know I’ll have told the police. And Liam-”

He breaks off, dissolving into stuttering gasps, doubling over on his knees.

“Mam’s right, he’s not going to keep his fucking mouth shut. Jesus, they could fucking _kill him_ and we might never know.”

“Ey, Noel, it’ll be okay, calm down.” He consoles, uselessly patting his shoulder and bending down to try to meet his eyes.

There's more ragged gasping, shoulder shaking under his palm.

“Fuck. Fuck me, I’m going to be sick.” He whimpers out, abruptly straightening up and looking like he’s going to flee or fall over, and Paul instinctively grabs his arm.

“Hey wait-”  
  
“ _Don’t_ -“ Noel immediately makes to push him away, as if on reflex, but the cast lands on his chest with a dull thunk and the other hand fists in his shirt, and he starts crying, and Paul’s brain stutters to a halt.

“I can’t - “ Jesus, Noel’s crying, crocodile tears trembling on his lashes, staring at his own fisted hand. “I can’t stop _thinking_ about it, I didn’t-“ 

“Sshh hey.” He says uselessly, voice feeble to his own ears. Noel doesn’t cry, _ever_. “It’s..”

“I tried, I swear I tried.” He whimpers out, hand tightening painfully at his shirt, a fair bit of skin getting sacrificed. “I tried my best and it still wasn’t fucking _enough._ ”

“Noel, come ead, she didn’t mean it-“

“Yes she did. She did, she blames me, I let it happen. I didn’t mean to, I _didn’t_..”

A shaking palm covers his eyes and then his brother is sobbing in earnest, and it’s the heartbreaking sounds of a man pushed to his very limit. Paul feels a small whine leave his throat and pulls him into his arms and Noel lets him, forehead landing somewhere on his collarbone, shoulders trembling under his hands.

It should be awkward since Noel is taller than him, but he feels exceptionally small today. Paul’s brain is stuck on the fact that this is Noel, _crying_ , the same guy who keeps every emotion remotely resembling sadness locked up somewhere until he releases it out through his music. The fact that he’s even crying at all in the presence of another human being is all Paul needs to know about how overwhelmed he is. Even now, it’s quieter than you would expect, all choking gasps and quiet sobs and each one makes something in Paul’s chest ache.

He keeps up a steady murmur of what he hopes are comforting words, rubbing his brothers back, and in between sobs, he hears Noel keep swearing up and down on everything on earth that _he tried,_ and Paul feels tears well up in his own eyes.

He keeps it up but pulls back with a frown when Noel’s breath starts hitching in his throat, his crying taking on the very strained quality of someone who just can’t stop.

“Noel?” He says, trying to meet his eyes. “Noel, ey, calm down, you need to breathe.”

“Ey, you need to calm down or you’re going to pass out.” He says more firmly, taking his chin and making him look up when he gets no response. Blood smears around from where his split lip is bleeding again. “Here, look at me, no, don’t look away, straight here. Take a deep breath.”

There’s a sob, and another, and his brother tries to take a deep breath but it wavers horribly until he chokes on it, grabbing at his side with a whimper and doubling over. He ends up on the ground, and Paul goes with him, feeling the wet grass soak into his pants as Noel coughs out more sobs, face flushed pink and covered in tears that he clumsily tries to wipe away.

“Here, come on, try again.” He coaxes, petting his wet cheek to keep his attention and taking a deep breath himself to get him to follow along. Noel coughs again and tries to follow along a beat too late, and its stuttering and shaky, teary eyes holding Paul’s like a lifeline as he tries to calm down. 

Paul finds himself suddenly hyper aware that they’re outside and literally anyone could walk out and see Noel like this, and he angles himself off to the side to try and hide him from anyone who may glance out the window into the yard. It’s not very often that he feels the urge to protect Noel, as cocksure and ready to take on the world as he usually is, but all he wants right now is to hide this heartbroken version of his little brother away from the world.

It takes a few minutes of coaxing, but Noel eventually calms down to the occasional hiccuping sob, and Paul pulls him into a hug again, unable to look at the miserable face anymore. It speaks volumes that Noel willingly lets him, shuddering under his hand.

“Sorry.” He croaks out, muffled. “I didn’t..”

“Shut up.” Paul says, gentle as he can be. It’s not hard, considering. “Catch your breath.”

Noel hiccups and nods, and goes back to breathing. It’s steadier, but his shoulders keep trembling.

They stay in place until the sound of a car driving off somewhere breaks the silence, and Noel pulls back abruptly with a sharp inhale, like he’s just remembered who he is and where he is, and then groans softly, cradling his casted arm to his chest. The words _they took a bat to it_ echo in Paul’s ears. He finds himself reaching out and wiping the blood off his lip and chin, putting a steadying hand on the back of Noel’s neck as he gently dabs at the bleeding cut with his sleeve. It’s oddly tender for the two of them, and Noel’s breath stutters at the touch, his skin warm and sweaty under Paul’s palm.

“Did you not get a sling for your arm?” He says, to break the silence, noting the casted arm awkwardly lying in Noel’s lap. He sits back, satisfied that he’s gotten all the blood.

Noel licks at his lip, a little drop immediately welling up again, then nods and rubs his eyes _hard,_ like he’s trying to scrub the very life out of them.

“Where is it?”

Noel blinks his eyes open, and they’re red and exhausted, and they look away the next second.

“I..” he croaks out, then blows out a tired breath, eyes blinking closed again, wet lashes a stark contrast with the red around them. “I dunno..uh-“

If Paul didn’t think his heart could hurt more, it definitely does seeing him stumble, when Noel is always so quick and sure of himself.

“I think I left it at Mams.” He mutters quietly, and Paul can tell he’s deliberately keeping all emotion out of his voice.

He tells him to stay put like he would to a little kid, and goes on shaky legs to find the first aid kit. He needs a moment himself, as much as he knows he should be the strong one here. Liam, the baby of the family, is missing, fucking kidnapped by people with _knives_ and _bats_ , and who are clearly willing to use them too. Noel, he doesn’t think he’s seen him cry in a good decade, and he’s just got done having a complete breakdown.

Their mam comes into the kitchen as soon as he finds the first aid kit, mind racing, and he inwardly sighs in relief when he sees the concern and mild horror on her face.

“Where is he?” She’s clearly been crying too, but it doesn’t stop the flash of protective instinct that flares up in him. She walks past him and he immediately stops her before she can get too close to the door, but they can both see Noel sitting cross legged in the grass clear as day, eyes buried in his palm and shoulders slumped dejectedly.

“Just give him a minute, yeah? He’s really broken up.”

She doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at Noel guiltily, and Paul sighs. What a mess his family is.

His voice is much softer when he speaks again, but still firm. “Let me go make him a sling. Just wait in here.”

She looks like she wants to argue, but still nods, eyes staying glued where they are.

Noel moves his hand but barely looks up at him as he settles down in front of him, but watches dead-eyed as Paul fashions him a sling out of some bandages. There’s the smallest moan of pain as Paul maneuvers his arm from where he’d been cradling it against his chest into the sling.

“Alright?”

“Yeah.” He says quietly, then adds as an afterthought. “Thanks.”

Paul almost rolls his eyes. “Come on, you should try and sleep a little.” The bags under Noel’s eyes are reaching legendary status.

Noel just shakes his head, going back to staring down at the grass. “I’ll come inside, just needa minute”

Paul nods and pats him on the head, letting his hand linger for a second before he rises. He intends to give him 5 before he comes and gets him, knowing his tendency to zone out for hours on end. He goes in to tell their mother to wait, but she’s out like a shot the minute he opens the door to go inside.

She immediately kneels down in front of Noel, and Paul gets a glimpse of the trepidation on Noel’s face as he stares down at her shoes. She’s whispering something softly to him then that he can’t hear, and she puts a tender hand to his cheek and his face crumples.

He closes the door once Noel buries his face in her shoulder, and she keeps murmuring softly to him, his hand clinging to her arm.

* * *

Noel likes to think he’s good with words, but he can’t come up with anything to describe what he feels right now. The closest he can come to is _raw._

He resolutely doesn’t think about the last however long he’s just spent having a complete breakdown, even as Liam’s voice rings in his head. _What a right drama queen you are._

He aimlessly wanders into the kitchen, opening the fridge out of habit, and considers in a moment of insanity, getting absolutely smashed just to drown out his racing mind. It’s tempting enough that he seriously considers it, but settles for dry swallowing the pills he has in his pocket, hoping they kick in quick. His hand is starting to throb something awful.

The thought of any more food is absolutely repulsive, so he leaves, shuffling into the living room to find his mother sitting on his couch, holding the necklace Liam had given her in her hand. It’s never left her neck since he gave it to her, right after they’d gotten their first proper paycheck, his eyes gleaming in childish excitement as she’d fawned over it.

He wants nothing more than to leave, to go into his bedroom and close the door and just lie there in the dark and let the numbness consume him. She’d told him she hadn’t meant it, but her words still sting, sharp and cruel against his battered soul, and he won’t ever admit to anyone how much they really hurt. They run through his head, word for word, and he just knows he'll never be rid of them.

But she’s still his mam, and he’d needed her comfort despite it all, and he can see the sad slump of her shoulders and the necklace catching in the light streaming in, and he knows he still does.

He gingerly settles down on the floor next to her, still unable to meet her eyes, and leans back against the soft couch, ignoring the pain in his chest and hand. It takes a couple of seconds, and then there’s a soft hand on his hair.

“You need to eat something.”  
  
“I can’t keep anything down.” He croaks out.

She tuts, but settles for silently pointing at the glass of water sitting in front of them on the coffee table. He takes it, if just to have something to do with his hands, eyes dully fixated on the fringe of the rug under him. It’s too bright, and he tries to get himself to get up and close the curtains, but he doesn’t have the will to move.

She silently takes the glass from him when he stops halfway through, and he tips until he has his face buried in her leg. He’s far outgrown his mother’s knee, but he can’t deny how comforting it is when she rubs his hair. If he closes his eyes and ignores the pain in his hand, he’s a small child again, upset over one thing or another and letting his mam comfort him, knowing she’ll fix whatever it is once he’s done crying.

Except she can’t fix this, and he won’t ever be able to forget what she’d said in one of the worst times of his life, and Liam isn’t just a toddler in the next room somewhere, happily destroying whatever he’s set his sights on this time.

Something must shift in his breathing, because he hears a very sad “oh Noely”, and feels a gentle kiss on the crown of his head. It would make him cry if he had any tears left in him, but he’s completely wrung out, so he just ignores the sudden weight in his throat.

“He’ll be okay. You’ll see.”

He just nods against her pant leg, shifting slightly so he can reach up and take her hand. She takes it in both of hers and keeps it in her lap, weathered skin rubbing gently at his calloused fingers. He can feel she’s upset, and knows he should do more to comfort her, but he feels like he has nothing more to give.

They stay there for hours, his shoulder going numb in the awkward position it’s in. He can tell his mam is already dozing, her grip on his hand going slacker and slacker, and he considers telling her to go up to bed, but knows she won’t, so he lets her sleep.

Paul joins them at some point, settling himself on the floor on the other side of their mam. Noel can feel his eyes on him, but he doesn’t look away from the coffee table he’s staring at, a meaningless tune playing in his head. It’s the one he’d heard when he’d been at the hospital, and he can’t wait for this nightmare to be over so he can write it down, rip it to pieces, and watch it burn in a fire.

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but one second his eyes are burning and staring aimlessly, and the next he’s lying on the floor, a cushion underneath him and the phone ringing jerks him straight out of his exhausted sleep. He immediately scrambles for it before his brain even catches up, stumbling horribly with just one hand, but he catches the phone on the second ring, heart in his throat as his mind immediately prepares him to hear the absolute worst. It takes him a few seconds of stunned silence to comprehend what he’s actually being told.

_We’ve found him, he’s alright._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one really got away from me. Someone give Noel all the hugs ;(
> 
> Also, someone please tell me what I'm supposed to do with the information that Noel Gallagher is an anti-masker. Why does he do this to me.


	4. Chapter 4

A jerk shakes Liam awake, and he draws in a startled breath which immediately feels musty in his throat. He can’t see, and he blinks feverishly to check if his eyes are open, and they are, and he can feel air on them but why can’t he move his hands to check? His feet thump against something solid as he tries to get free, and he quickly figures out there’s nowhere for them to go.

There’s barely any room to _move._ His shoulders and back both can’t move more than a few inches, and his panicked breathing rings heavy in his ears, chest straining as he tries to get in enough oxygen, the claustrophobia hitting him like a punch to the face. Where the fuck is he?

There’s a clang, and blinding light streams directly into his face, and he makes out vague figures through slitted eyes before he’s being dragged out of what he suddenly registers is the trunk of a car.

The sudden fresh air chokes him, cold and biting in his nose and mouth, and its bright, _too bright_ and he’s carelessly dropped on the ground as his stomach rolls. He can’t catch himself with his hands tied up, and dirt and grass gets in his mouth, and then he’s violently sick all over. Someone very helpfully drags him up by the back of his jacket so he doesn’t face plant into his own vomit as he tries to catch his breath between retching.

A pair of shoes pops up in his vision, and it instantly makes him remember. Those shoes in a dirty alley, Noel screaming in agony in front of him, laughing in a bar with the band, a knife heading towards him, bones cracking, _take me and leave him._

It’s a good thing he’s already puking up everything, because the sudden gravity of his situation is enough to make him sick.

Whoever is holding him up tosses him off to the side when he’s regurgitated his entire stomach, and he lies there, gasping and sweating in the chill, immediately aware that he’s been given something, and something _strong_. His vision is horribly blurred and his head swims uncomfortably, his body trembling beyond what he’d thought was lack of air.

He can hear people talking, eyes heavy like they're dead weight, but he can’t make out the words; they filter into his ears, just close enough to sound like words, and then they’re gone, and they don’t make sense. He’s being dragged up by the scruff of his shirt then, and his head lolls back, and his world spins and everything fades out.

It fades back in as he’s dumped on a hard concrete floor, and its disorienting to suddenly be in semi darkness and breathing in stale air. He hears a door slam somewhere behind him and he blinks at the concrete his face is buried in, trying to get his brain to stop swimming away.

Blearily, he wonders why these bastards couldn’t have given him _good_ drugs.

He drifts in and out of half consciousness for what feels like hours, but he can’t be sure of anything. There’s barely any light on the patch of concrete he’s still looking at and it’s chilly, enough that he’s shivering, but his half lucid mind tells him it could just be because of whatever they’ve given him.

Time drags as he jerks between fear and paranoia and anticipation and utter numbness, his mind racing uncomfortably but never long enough to latch onto a coherent thought, until finally, _slowly_ , he can feel his head start to clear.

This he can do though; this is comfortably high for Liam Gallagher.

He forces himself to roll over, wrists raw under whatever is holding them together, skin prickling with numbness. His back instantly feels cold, and he's suddenly aware of everything he wasn't feeling until now. Every sensation slowly trickles back in, like it's wading through sludge to get to him.

There’s suddenly commotion outside, raised voices tinged with panic, and Liam only has time to wonder if that’s been happening this whole time and he just hadn’t noticed, and then the door is slammed open hard enough to go crashing into the wall.

Jesus christ, is this it?

_He’s not ready._

Three men storm in, and he can just tell these men were in the alley even though he hadn’t seen their faces, and he’s yanked upright. He instinctively tries to get away as tape is slapped over his mouth again, harsh fingers digging into his arms, pure fear bubbling up in his throat and he’s suddenly back in the alley, and then he’s back the next second, and he doesn’t know what’s about to happen to him as his breath catches in his throat.

They start to lead him forward, and his legs immediately give out. Nobody seems to care, and they half drag him out as he desperately tries to get his footing, mind working in overdrive as he tries to figure out what he should do. Should he fight? Bones cracking and Noel screaming echo in his mind again. Should he run? He has no idea where he is.

Liam only catches glances of empty rooms and broken furniture and then suddenly they’re outside, the daylight blinding him once again and he groans behind the tape. One of the men leading the way turns around and punches him straight across the face and his head snaps back, nose stinging.

“Not a sound.” He warns, scouse accent raspy, and Liam glares back with watering eyes but stays quiet.

They start walking, and Liam looks out at the deserted countryside before them, desperately trying to find something familiar, but this could be anywhere in the world and he wouldn’t know the difference. His mind screams at him to run _,_ and then it’s Noel’s voice in his head, telling him to _think_. All around him it’s open and barren, and he would have nowhere to hide.

They reach a car and Liam realizes what’s about to happen that very second, and panic bubbles up in his chest again as the trunk is popped open. Flashes of waking up cramped and not able to breathe and the sharp feeling of claustrophobia and he’s trying to break free, barely thinking about what he’s doing.

It’s useless of course. A knee to the stomach knocks all the breath out of him and he wheezes, and the few seconds is enough for them to throw him into the trunk, and his head thunks against the bottom and his elbow cracks against the side and then it’s dark.

He lies very still for a minute, desperately trying to keep from hyperventilating, his breathing measured and loud in his ears. Jesus, it’s so dark. The sunlight from a few seconds ago still burns in his vision, and he would think he’d imagined it if there weren’t little splotches of light still shimmering in his vision. 

_It's just a car, it's just the trunk of a car._

Fuck, he’s scared. It threatens to overwhelm him now that its silent and still and he can actually think again. He feels the car start up and then it’s moving, and his breathing picks up again. Where the fuck are they taking him? They could be hours away from London by now, he has no clue how far they drove when he was passed out in the trunk, and now they’re driving even further.

He’s digging his fingernails into his palms without thinking about it, flashes of getting knifed in the woods somewhere behind his eyes clear enough that they could be a memory, left there to never be found…

He sucks in a panicked breath, and it exhales out into a sob, anxiety threatening to overwhelm him again as he feels himself going back to the claustrophobic panic from earlier. He’s going to die, he’s never going to make it back to Manchester and back to his family and _Noel-_

Thinking about Noel just makes him sob again, gasps seeming to echo in the enclosed space, heart thudding somewhere in his throat. What’s even happened to Noel? Did they just leave him there, hurt and defenseless? Anyone could have found him there and done whatever they wanted to him.

But it’s _Noel_.

He hears his voice in his head again before he can think about it anymore, like he’s right there next to him, in the cramped prison he's stuck in.

_Liam._

It’s just how he’d sounded before they’d _hurt him_ , but the undercurrent of fear isn’t there. It’s how Liam's name usually flows out, frustrated and stressed and varying levels of annoyed depending on how much he's been acting up, but also reluctantly _fond_.

He gasps in a couple of more breaths, gritting his teeth to get himself under control. Noel knows what’s happened to him, and Noel will never let anything happen to him. If there’s one thing he can always count on, it’s that Noel will always be there to get him out of whatever stupid situation he lands himself in.

A niggling voice in his head reminds him that Noel could well still be lying in that alley, unconscious.

_Liam, calm down, you dumb twat._

He latches onto the firm thing in his gut that knows Noel’s fine and looking for him, or at least harassing everyone until they do. Noel wouldn’t lie around unconscious knowing he was in trouble.

His mind dips to the bar right before they’d left, and he's stuffed into a booth right next to his brother. An arm smushed up against his own, warm against the chill in the bar, condensation dripping off their glasses onto the just disgusting enough table, Bonehead in front of the two of them, telling some mad story complete with sound effects that had Noel laughing so hard beer had snorted out of his nose. Liam laughing with Noel more than he had been at Bonehead’s story, unable to look away from his brother; coughing and spluttering, but still falling over himself laughing, face flushed and unguarded and pink and _happy_.

It’s so vivid he can still see it beneath his clenched eyelids, can still feel himself on the soft seat, can still feel Noel’s knee knocking against his and his laugh ringing in his ears.

He latches onto it, like a drowning man to land, heart already slowing down, and just _breathes_.

* * *

When the car stops seconds minutes hours later, and someone fiddles with the trunk latch, he opens his eyes and lets the memories he’d firmly stayed buried in drive his wave of defiance.

He’s still holding strong when the blinding daylight clears and he looks up at two police officers, their faces melting from anxious to relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Jeevey for being my sounding board for this


	5. Chapter 5

The second he’s helped out of the trunk, Liam almost face plants onto the road, muscles completely seized up and hands still tied. Strong hands catch him and lower him down, and he lies there trying to catch his breath as he feels the ties being cut away. It’s pathetically embarrassing, but he can still feel the residual panic rolling around in his chest and his limbs tingle uncomfortably.

Someone is crouched next to him, patting his shoulder and murmuring something to him, but Liam can’t make anything out past the ringing in his ears and the sound of his own harsh breathing. The cold feels bitter in his mouth, and he swallows hard to not throw up everywhere again.

_It’s over? Just like that?_

His limbs feel like they’re made of lead after spending god knows how long squeezed into the tiny trunk he was in, but he forces himself to move and ends up grabbing the man’s sleeve, blinking up at him against the overly bright flashing lights

“Noel? Where’s my brother?” He hadn’t even figured out what he was going to say until it comes out, voice raspy and wrecked, but the second he says it the demand for an answer hits him full force.

The man has a kind face, and it almost makes Liam tear up, an urge he forces himself to ignore.

“He’s alright from what I know, son, we’ve been in touch with him. I don’t know much more than that, I’m afraid.”

It’s enough. Liam’s fist reflexively clenches on the sleeve he’s holding, a relieved sigh coming out unconsciously. Childishly, he wishes Noel was here, so he could see for himself, but he knows that would be impossible.

Someone’s asking him if he’s hurt, and he shakes his head, shielding his eyes against the still too bright daylight. It’s suddenly all too much; it’s too bright against his eyes, there’s too many set of footsteps walking around and is that a plane he hears? He whines and tries to get away from it all, and everything blurs before it goes black.

* * *

Noel’s hands are shaking as Marcus drives him to the hospital Liam is in, a couple of hours outside of London. One of the officers who’d stayed behind at his house drives ahead of them, lights and siren blaring in full so traffic clears for them.

As soon as he’d actually comprehended what he was being told over the phone, he’d been up like a shot. Marcus had walked in at that exact moment and Noel had bullied him straight out the door into the car, yelling out the bare details to the scattered entourage. It had taken him five minutes into the drive to remember he hadn’t bothered to wait for his Mam and Paul, and he knows he’s going to get it in the neck for that one later, but finds himself unable to care at the moment, because _Liam_.

They’d told him he was awake and talking when they’d found him and were going to get him airlifted to the hospital, but Noel can’t bring himself to believe it. He doesn’t think he’s going to believe it until he can actually see Liam, flesh and blood in front of his own two eyes. The cynical part of his brain screams at him, _it’s just too easy, there’s no way it’s all over and peachy just like that._

He makes the hangnail on his thumb bleed as he bites savagely into it, eyes burning and staring blankly out the windshield as they drive, but he ignores the pain and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, his mind running two steps forward and one step behind at the same time.

He’s been steadily ignoring the urge to shove some coke up his nose this whole time, unsure of how it’s going to mess with his already fucked up head and the pills he’s on, but the impulse to snort a line off the dash is so strong it’s almost animalistic. At this point, he would give anything to calm down his racing mind. Every thought and emotion seems to flare and leave in a split second, and he flits from impatience to anger to reluctant hope to disbelief.

_It can’t be that easy._

The tension is palpable the whole car ride as Marcus wisely stays quiet and Noel keeps staring at the police car in front of them, its blaring siren and flashing lights leaving little squiggles in his vision every time he blinks.

He blanks out a little bit once they pull into the hospital, and he’s out like a shot without waiting for anyone, hyper focused on finding his brother in the giant building. After a lot of demands for directions and swearing at slow elevators and people who _won’t get out of his way,_ he’s finally in the private wing Liam is in, and he beelines for the room he’s been pointed towards.

It’s flanked by two security guards who immediately stop him, looking at him disbelievingly as he swears at them to _let me through, I’m his goddamn brother, you fucking cunts._

A nurse pops out and apparently recognizes him, and lets him through, and she’s only just started telling him Liam’s resting and to keep it down before he’s pushed past all of them, heart in his throat as he sees his brother half awake and blinking blearily in his direction.

* * *

Liam doesn’t know what the doctors have given him, but its _good_. His head swims brilliantly and he’s been stubbornly trying to stay awake until his family can get here, but he’s been drifting in and out for god knows how long.

It hasn’t really been working. He’s not sure if he was just asleep or awake, but his eyes feel like rubber and the heavy pull of sleep has him unable to do nothing but blink at the door as he suddenly hears a very familiar voice angrily swearing up a storm right outside.

Scuffed trainers appear at the door and freeze for a split second. Then jean covered legs stride over, and Noel’s crouching down on his knees and his face fills his vision, bushy brows furrowed in relief and concern.

“Hey.” He breathes out, all anger gone. “ Fuck, you’re alright. Are you alright?”

Liam blinks and nods slowly, eyes drooping again as a palm softly rests on his cheek. This close and still half asleep, all Liam can focus on is brilliant blue eyes, bloodshot and exhausted, surrounded by pale bruised skin and stubble that looks very out of place.

“You look fucked.”

It’s all he can think of saying and it comes out garbled, and Noel chuckles, face relaxing and eyes suddenly suspiciously shiny.

“Cunt.” Noel sniffles, thumb rubbing his cheek. It’s nice. He forces his hand to move, and it feels like a thousand pounds, but he manages to grab onto some part of Noel’s shirt.

His brother, of course, understands instantly.

“I’ll be right here.” He says gently, smile playing on chapped lips.

Liam finally sleeps.

* * *

Liam stirs again at some point, and the blinds are pulled shut against the still bright daylight outside, so it’s less painful to open his eyes. His head is already clearer but he’s still so _sleepy_.

Noel’s still there, unsurprisingly, slumped in a chair with his legs stretched out in front of him, blinking blankly somewhere at the top of his bed, worrying his thumb between his teeth.

The bags under his eyes are dark enough to look like bruises and the cast on the arm cradled against his chest has something that feels an awful lot like concern bubbling up in his chest, but his head still throbs and his eyes are sandy enough that he drops out again before he can say anything.

* * *

The next time he comes to, Noel’s not there, but his mam and Paul are. His mam immediately starts sniffling when she sees him awake but holds it together, looking awfully small and fragile in the dim light. It’s clearly still daylight outside, and it messes with his head. He can’t pinpoint how much time has passed.

The hug he gets off his mam has him blinking back his own tears, and he can hear Paul sniffling in the back too, and it’s all very dramatic, but he figures they can get away with it just this one time.

* * *

It’s finally not daylight outside the next time he opens his eyes, and he almost laughs in relief. He’d been stuck in a paranoid dream that time had frozen for him, and his sleepy mind registers just how stupid that really was now that he’s out of it.

It’s amazing how much better he feels, even though it feels like it’s really only been a few minutes since he last dropped off. He can keep his eyes open with no problem and his head is finally clear enough that he can suddenly remember everything that’s happened.

Noel’s in the chair again, but he’s slumped over on the bed, eyes closed and chin pillowed on his arm. The casted arm is resting a few inches away, against Liam’s thigh.

He’s pretty sure Noel’s not asleep, and he’s proven right when he shifts a little and groans at his protesting muscles, and Noel jerks upright, eyes boring into his.

They stare at each other for a beat.

“You with me this time?”

Liam frowns at that, clears his dry throat. “Where else ‘m I gonna be?” 

“Never mind. Here, drink.”

He rolls his eyes as Noel messes with the button at the head of his bed, and the bed moves every which way before it finally lifts him into a sitting position. He greedily drinks from the straw Noel holds up for him before he tuts at him to go slow.

He lies back gingerly and gets a good look at Noel as he puts the glass away. “What the fuck happened to you? You look like you’re on meth or summat.”  
  
“What do you _think_ happened to me, you idiot?” Noel shoot back incredulously, then waves a hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter. How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Sore.”

“Does your head hurt? The doctor said the drugs should be worn off by now.”  
  
“Feels top. Perfect, even.”

“Are you tired?”

“A little bit. You look like you need this IV instead o’ me, mate.”

“Be straight with me, Liam." Noel says, face serious and stern. "You’re sure you’re alright?”

“Oy, enough with the third degree! I’m fine, me.”

“Yeh?”

“Yeh, you buffoon.”

“Perfect.” Noel says, then reaches over and pinches Liam on the arm, _hard_ , making a real show of twisting the skin

“Yeeooowww!” Liam yelps, equal parts from pain and surprise, jerking up. “You cunt!”

“You fucking deserved that!” Noel snaps at him, eyes suddenly glinting with fury.

Liam gapes at him. “What the _fuck_ was that for?! You-”

“If I could pound you right now, I would. Where do you get off _asking_ some fucking-movie villain goons to kidnap you? Are you fucking thick?”

“I did it to save your sorry arse, you prick!”

“I can save my own sorry arse, I should punt yours out this fucking window, do you know what you’ve put me through? What you put _mam_ through?”

The mention of his mam makes something in him clench, but he pushes past it, some strange part of him relishing in the normalcy of this whole exchange. God, he really never thought he would get to fight with his brother again.

“’Ey, I just got kidnapped, right? Been through an _ordeal_ and all. Aren’t you supposed to be happy that I’m alright and all that?”

“I’m _chuffed_ , me. I’ll be happier when you can stand and I can shove my shoe up your arse, you fucking-“

“Shut _up,_ you’re-“

“ _You_ fucking shut u-“

The security guard from outside pokes his head in, face the picture of someone who knows he should get involved but really doesn’t want to, and looks warily between the two of them.

“Everything alright?”

Noel stands and whips around, and they both yell at him to fuck off in perfect unison. He raises his eyebrows and does, unsurprisingly, and Noel turns back to him, finger raised and clearly about to lay into him some more before Liam cuts him off.

“Oy, Shakespeare, give it a fucking rest. You haven’t hugged me yet, am I gonna get one or what?”

“Fuck you.” Noel spits out, then hugs Liam hard enough to choke him. Noel’s cast is heavy on his back and Liam gets a whiff of unwashed hair, but he just crinkles his nose and relaxes into the hug.

“There, there.” He mutters, half to lighten the mood and half sincerely, petting Noel like he’s a small child. “Isn’t that better? So much rage in such a tiny body.”

There’s a long pause, the two of them sitting on his bed, and Liam frowns at the sudden silence before Noel starts shaking and there’s a sob.

His heart drops. “Ey, Noel-“

“Shut the fuck up. For once in your life-“ Noel chokes out, voice trembling, hand bunching into the back of his shirt. “Just-“

Liam hugs him closer, wincing slightly at the ache in his muscles as Noel buries his face into his shoulder, tears soaking through his shirt. Shuddering breaths echo in the silence, and suddenly Liam is blinking back his own. Being around crying people always makes him choke up, but _Noel_ crying?

“Come ead, our kid, you’re gonna make me cry too.”

Noel pulls away and puts his forehead against his, hand clenching in the back of his hair.

“Good. Jesus fucking Christ. You had me worried sick.” He hiccups out, wet eyes opening and boring angrily into his. “You fucking do that again and I’ll _strangle_ you, you cunt.”

Liam just nods, completely unapologetic. The teary eyes in front of him have him remembering bones cracking and screaming he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget, and he knows he would do it all again in a heartbeat.

“You look like dogshit.” He says instead.

Noel hiccups again, then there’s a watery chuckle, and he backs away a little bit and takes a shaky breath.

“Dick.”

Liam resists the urge to wipe the tears on Noel’s cheek, then gives in and does it anyway. Noel’s breath hitches a little bit in surprise, but he doesn’t move away. Then he flushes red and wipes the lingering ones away himself, rubbing his palm harshly against his eyes.

“Fuck me.”

The _can’t believe you’re here, can’t believe you’re alright, can’t believe I didn’t lose you_ all go unsaid, but Liam hears them clear as day. He can’t believe the same, all of a sudden, thinks about being in that trunk and being so sure he was going to get knifed and never found, remembers hearing Noel’s voice in his head, and then being _so sure_ he was going to see his brother again.

He’s here now, solid and warm, sitting at the edge of his bed, and Liam’s suddenly so tired thinking about it all.

He pulls his brothers shirt clumsily, and it’s clear how much Noel needs it too when he willingly lets himself be pulled into another hug. Noel’s hand clings to the front of his shirt and his brother shudders again, shoulders drooping from where they’d been rigid and strained.

"Oy." He finds himself saying. "I love you, you daft cunt."

Noel predictably doesn't say it back, but he sniffles and nods after a beat and the hand clinging to his shirt tightens a little bit, which Liam knows is Noel-speak for _I love you too._ Not that Liam needs to even hear it to believe it after the day he's had.

They sit there for a good while, silent against the muffled noises leaking in from outside the door. It's nice. Noel's warm against the chill in the room and the still present ache in his limbs.

A knock on the door eventually breaks the moment and Noel pulls back immediately, straightening up and hastily wiping his eyes. Liam almost pouts.

It’s the doctor from before, flanked by Paul. He looks at the two of them warily, and Noel stands and moves off to the side to give him room.

It’s a bunch of questions that Liam impatiently answers, wheedles a little bit about wanting to go home already because really he feels great, a request which is swiftly shut down. The doctor directs a question at Noel without looking up, and they all look over at him when there’s no answer to find him staring sightlessly somewhere at the corner of the room.

Paul waves his hand in front of his face. “Noel?”

Noel’s head pops up, eyes blinking rapidly as he looks between the three of them. “Hmm? Sorry.”

“Has he been coherent since he’s been awake?” The doctor repeats.

Noel blinks at him, then seems to shake himself. There’s still tears smeared around his eyes. “Uh, yeh, he’s been fine.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, fine. Was just thinking.”

“Are you sure? You don’t look like you should be out of bed.“

“Again, I’m fine.” Noel snaps impatiently, squirming at the attention on him. “Liam’s been fine since he woke up, normal level of cunt and all that.”

Three sets of skeptical eyes look back at him, and he mutters something about needing a minute and stalks out.

* * *

It’s just gone 10pm on the longest day of his life when Paul makes his way down the short hallway on a mission, heading towards the mens room once he sees the sign. The ward really is private, only small enough to hold 5 separate rooms with a tiny waiting room down the end.

The doctors words from all of two minutes ago still echo in his ears. _Your brother should already have had surgery on his hand, and he definitely should not be walking around_.

God, what a stubborn cunt. Paul can’t believe his gall as much as he can’t believe how he didn’t even _ask_ Noel what the doctors had told him. They’d all been so preoccupied thinking about Liam they hadn’t _really_ thought about what Noel had gone through.

He’s glad their mam had listened to him and let him get her a room at the hotel across the street. They’re too far from London and there’s no way any of them are going any further tonight.

He’d naively thought the tension between her and Noel would be fine now that they’d found Liam, safe and unharmed, a concept he’s still having to wrap his head around, but it had gotten worse if anything. Noel and Liam always fight, but when Noel and his mam get into it, it's always when someone goes just too far and it without fail dissolves into a tense standoff, with both of them too stubborn to talk it out, leaving it to fester.

They’d all been silently sitting as Liam had slept when a nurse had poked his head in and told them they had to wait outside so he could change out Liam’s IV. When they’d stepped out, their mam had immediately chided Noel for leaving for the hospital without them, and Noel had _glared_ back at her. It was a fair point as far as Paul was concerned, even if it was a poorly timed one, but it was so unlike Noel to be so sensitive and get so furious about something so trivial.

A hushed argument had ensued right there in the hall, everyone trying not to wake up Liam, and it would have been almost comical if he wasn’t stuck in the middle trying to break it up. Not for the first time, Paul had cursed their stubborn Irish blood as the two of them ended up quiet and furiously glaring at each other, Noel’s anger masking leftover hurt and their mother’s annoyance masking leftover regret.

The nurse had come back out, blinking at the obvious tension, and Noel had stormed back into Liam’s room without a word to either of them.

By the time he’d made it back to Liam’s room from dropping their mother off at the hotel, cheeks still stinging from the cold chill, the doctor had been on his way in to check on Liam again and Noel looked wrecked. Even Liam looked better than he did at that point, and the doctor noticed. The second Noel bolted from the attention, they were both on the doctor, who'd told them not to worry and he would pull his records.

Paul hadn't wanted to leave Liam alone so he'd stayed, finally getting to talk to him about what had gone on without their mam around. Liam, of course, embellished no truths, very matter of factly telling him all the details, and at the end, he wished he hadn't asked. They'd already been briefed by the police, but this was more detail than he would ever have gotten from Noel. The three of them care about each other but have never been ones for overly sentimental shows, but Paul had to give into the urge and give Liam a hug after the whole thing. The kid had hugged right back, unashamedly told him he loved him, and Paul suddenly had a vision of what life would be like without Liam there, with just Noel and Mam, and had hugged him a little tighter.

Noel was still nowhere to be found, the sneaky bastard, and then doctor was there, telling him they'd pulled his records and to go find his brother and bring him back.

Now, he throws the door to the bathroom open with more force than necessary, and all anger leaves in an instant when it stops halfway with a loud thunk. There’s a startled gasp and his eyes widen in horror as he cautiously pokes his head in.

“Shit. Shit, did I get you?”

It sounds stupid as he says it, mind trying to catch up. Noel looks at him white faced, clutching at his arm, and he stares open mouthed back at Paul for only a second before he exhales and his eyes flutter shut and he crumples.

Paul swears and lurches forward on pure instinct to catch him, and just manages to get his arms under his, half on his knees under the sudden dead weight. Noel’s head lolls onto his shoulder and then back, boneless and limp.

“Fuck. Fuck, Noel?” _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

He shouts for help and gently lowers him to the floor, carefully cradling his head in the crook of his elbow. For a second, all he can do is clench his teeth at how awful he looks up close, white as a sheet against the red rimmed eyes and dark stubble peppered across his face.

Where the fuck is everyone? He’s about to yell again, heart beating somewhere in his throat when Noel’s breathing hitches and his eyes pop open.

“Noel?”

His brother blinks feverishly at the ceiling, eyes blank and dazed, like he’s not really awake. It’s horribly unsettling.

“Noel? Jesus, are you okay?”

Noel gives no indication he’s heard him, but he groans long and hard and arches away gracelessly, face screwing up. Paul quickly tries to hold him down, but Noel whimpers, weakly pushing at him, shuddering.

“M gonna be sick.”

Paul barely manages to reach the trashcan under the sink, and gets it back just in time to help Noel turn to the side before he starts retching. He almost gags himself but forces himself to keep it under control, even as Noel keeps going long past anything coming up, dissolving into dry heaving. The noise echoes around the bathroom, and Paul uselessly pats his back.

Noel crumples the second he’s done with a breathless sob, eyes screwed shut as he lets out a very small “ow”. Something in Paul’s stomach flips.

Someone conveniently walks in just as he’s about to run out and grab someone, and it’s the nurse from before. Paul could cry with relief as he steps in, a very knowing look in his eye as Paul starts rambling about what happened.

He asks a few more questions which Paul answers, then leaves to get a stretcher with reassurances that they’ll run some tests but it’s a promising sign that he came to so quickly. Paul latches onto that to make himself feel better as Noel lies there through the whole thing, pale and trembling, curled around his hand and trying to catch his breath.

He’s apologizing the second the nurse leaves, horrified with himself.

“Shut. Up.” Noel grits out before he gets too far, and it's exhausted and tinged with irritation and impatience, but not angry, and Paul blows out a relieved breath.

It takes two whole minutes, and then Noel's uncovering his eyes, wincing at the ceiling light.

“Ere, help me up.” He says, holding out his good arm. Paul bites down the urge to smack his idiot brother in the face.

“No, you dafthead. Stay there, they’re getting a stretcher for you.”

“What? What the fuck for?” Noel demands, clearly already getting his wits about him again.

“What do you mean, what the fuck for? You just fainted, you idiot.”

“I’ve fainted before.” He shoots back, almost petulantly.

“I’ll fucking sit on you. They pulled your records, you know. Why the fuck did you not tell anyone about your surgery? And you left hospital against doctors orders? Are you out of your head?”

Noel frowns, immediately defensive. “That- they had it scheduled, nought I could do about it until then, right?”  
  
“You coulda fuckin told us, you-“

“Well, no one fucking asked, did they?”

There's an awkward silence where Paul opens and shuts his mouth a few times. “That’s not fucking fair. You coulda said something-“

There's a very bitter laugh. “When, in between mam tearing the skin off me arse? Strange how it didn’t come up.”

His brother blows out a frustrated breath and half rolls over himself, groaning at the pain.

“Noel. Noel, jesus, you’re going to hurt yourself, lie back down.”

“What?” He grits out, pulling himself half upright, face screwed up with anger and pain. “You gonna kick me in the ribs this time, really finish the job?”

It’s harsh enough that Paul wishes Noel had just punched him instead, and the shocked silence is enough time for Noel to pull himself up into a sitting position. Paul resists the urge to push him back down, gritting his teeth at how much of a cunt Noel can be, even when he’s in pain and had passed out not more than five minutes ago.

It takes a second, and then Noel pales again and sways, then tips over like someone’s cut the strings holding him up. He falls straight into Paul’s arms with a gasp, palm covering his eyes, whole body trembling.

“Fuck.” He whimpers into his chest, sounding so tired and miserable Paul can’t help but feel a surge of sympathy. “Ow, fuck, that hurts.”

Noel stays perfectly still, shaking and gasping until the nurse finally shows up with a stretcher, and silently lets them carry him out. Paul tries to follow but they tell him he won’t be allowed in, so he takes a minute after they leave to just stand there and figure out what the fuck he should do next, then heads out to fill in his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna end up being more than 6 chapters, I can feel it in my bones and in my word count


	6. Chapter 6

Noel really should have known better. He should have known better than to try and get up so quickly after fainting, should have been more careful with his hand, should have eaten a proper meal and drank some water, should have gotten some actual rest, should have been nicer to his mam, should have gone down the main road, should have tried harder to get them to leave Liam alone..

All the should haves swim around in his exhausted brain while he just lies there and tries to ignore how much it all hurts and how dizzy he is even though he’s staying perfectly still.

He’s just spent what felt like hours getting poked and prodded, getting x-rays done, getting bloodwork done, answering ten million questions until he’d wanted to curl up on the floor and cry until everyone left him alone. He’d held it together though, had only snapped at the doctor once and had successfully kept himself from throwing up the whole time. He thinks he would be prouder of himself if he could actually form a coherent thought.

He gets his very own hospital bed and his very own IV by the end of it, gets told he needs to have surgery first thing in the morning, and that he can’t eat or drink or get any pain relief in the meantime. He’s fine with the first two, with no interest in giving his stomach any more excuses to rebel, the lingering taste of vomit and the burn in his throat and chest punishment enough, but he almost loses it at the last one. Everything _hurts,_ more than it has all day; the searing pain in his hand overrides most of it, feels like someone’s squeezing the broken bones as hard as they can, makes him keep thinking of the feeling of _give_ under that goddamned bat, the thunk the door had made before the pain had exploded and his world had gone black.

The memories do nothing to quell his nausea or help his dizzy head. He’s fainted before, some ridiculous cocktail of drugs knocking him out cold in some club back when he still lived in Manchester, so the absolute misery of the aftermath isn’t anything new. He figures he sort of deserves it too. He’s been running on less than empty for a ridiculous amount of time, clearly self-sabotaging but too full of fear and hurt and concern and guilt to let himself stop, and now he’s paying for it.

The bed feels like it’s shifting underneath him, like one of those dreams where you feel like you’re falling, like he’s not actually lying on it properly. It’s horribly nauseating, and doesn’t do anything to help the pain; his casted hand is elevated on a pillow next to him, and continues to throb cruelly along with his head with every beat of his heart.

Whoever is in charge of his luck, he really would like a word with them.

He lies there and lets himself be miserable, and the pain does calm down enough that he can unclench his teeth a little bit and actually manage words when Paul comes in. Noel stubbornly keeps his palm slapped over his eyes, even though the lights in the room are off, not wanting to find out what anything other than total darkness is going to set off. His older brother tells him he’s going to go update their mam on what’s happened and come right back, and Noel all but begs him to stay there and keep her there too. It’s so much effort to talk, to make his brain work and his mouth move to force the words out, but he knows his mam, knows she’ll want to come back and see him too. He’s tried to put up with her unpredictable moods, knows she’s been going through a tough time too, but he doesn’t think he can put up with her fussing or setting off another fight, his non-existent patience not able to handle any of it.

_How could you have let this happen?_

Paul seems to get it though, and promises to only come back if he can alone, and Noel drops it, because Paul can be really dense sometimes and he can’t really make it any clearer, can’t really make himself physically say any more words. He keeps his eyes firmly closed and covered the whole time, makes a non-committal noise when Paul asks him how he’s feeling, and tries to play if off like he’s just tired and dizzy while he wishes he would just _fuck off._ He’s lost it in front of his older brother more times today (jesus it’s still _today_ ) than he probably has in his whole life, and his stubborn pride refuses to give in any more, driven only by the simmering anger for setting off his current state of misery. Accident or no, he still fully intends on ripping his balls off when he can actually stand.

He does leave, guilt heavy in his disembodied voice, promising to come back if he can. Noel switches between feeling bad to feeling vindicated that he’s not the only one that’s miserable, but it’s beyond him to try and make him feel better or tear him apart, so he just says nothing.

Once his brother leaves and Noel can stop trying to hide how miserable he is, he shifts uncomfortably, tries some deep breathing, and tries to find a position that doesn’t make him want to puke and sell his soul to satan and/or cut his hand off for a goddamned break. None of it works, and he ends up miserably curled up again, annoyed at Paul for setting his brain off, his mantra of _everyone’s fine, the police got all the cunts, it’s all over, Liam’s fine_ stubbornly running in his head.

As if he can hear it, like he _knows,_ there’s suddenly loud voices in the hallway, and one very familiar one starts escalating in volume and annoyance. He grits his teeth in resignation and braces himself for the explosion that’s always Liam, assuming Paul must have told him what happened. The voices get closer until the door to his room opens, softer than he’d expected, and he twitches as the light streams in straight into his face, making its way through his fingers.

“Oy, just stand out here then! Christ, it’s fucking ten steps away, you stupid cunt.” He hears him snap at who he assumes are the security guards, and it’s quite a few decibels lower than his normal volume. The door shuts, cutting off whatever they were about to say, and the room goes back to the blissful darkness.

“Where do they get these wankers?” Liam grumbles, and Noel can just see him standing there, trying to get used to the darkness and debating if he wants to piss him off by turning the light on.

“Y’ shouldn’t be outta bed.” Noel mumbles, wincing at how slurred it is and how wrecked he sounds, lips heavy as lead.

“Bit rich coming from you, innit?” Liam’s spoiling for a fight, he can hear it in his tone, and he almost groans.

There’s shuffling then, and some predictable bumping into things; it’s dark but he’s not convinced Liam knows how to walk straight anyways. The bed rocks suddenly when his brother bumps into it, and Noel’s stomach drops to what feels like the floor, hand screaming at him, and he actually does groan.

There’s the sound of Liam all but falling into the chair next to his bed, and Noel’s gritting his teeth _hard,_ breathing hitching in his throat. “Noel?”

“Hurts.” It’s all Noel can manage after a second, and it’s a pathetic sob even to his own ears.

“Swooning like a little girl does that, I hear.” Liam says, but Noel can hear the edge of concern and unease in his voice, hears it shift slightly closer mid-sentence. “Have they not got you on the good drugs?”

“Can’t bef’re surgery.”

“Bunch’a dicks.”

Noel swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. Something about Liam being out of bed and walking around and swearing and trying to start fights for no reason picks at the part of him that thought this would never happen again, does more to calm the residual panic his brain has still been holding onto more than anything has so far. Coupled with the pain and misery he’s in right now, he can feel his defenses melt away into absolutely nothing.

He feels the blanket being pulled up over his shoulders, and he shifts uncomfortably, forcing himself to unclench his jaw and smushing his cheek into his pillow. 

Liam takes his hand away from his face and Noel makes a noise of protest when the dim moonlight hits his eyes and makes his head throb at his brow.

“Oy, relax, you knob.” Liam mutters, and starts sliding the rings Noel’s still wearing on his fingers off. He squints at him in confusion for a second until he realizes they’ve been digging into his face, can feel where the skin feels funny around his nose.

Noel can feel Liam glancing at him appraisingly as he works them off, but he’s staring at his hand, watching as warm clumsy fingers struggle with the one on his middle finger that’s always been a little snug, mesmerized at how gentle it is, feels a flash of something he’s too tired to work out when he catches the red marks on Liam’s wrists where the plastic ties had dug into his skin.

He takes his hand back once the rings are off, instantly misses the warmth but can’t handle keeping his eyes open and uncovered any more, feels them burn as the rings clatter on the table next to his bed.

"D'you need-"

“Ssshhh” is all that comes out to interrupt him, exhausted enough that he can’t manage another word. It’s too much all of a sudden, too normal to have Liam swearing at everything that moves, trying to take care of him in his own weird way, which is always just awkwardly not knowing what to do and taking the piss out of him.

And he can _relax_. He doesn’t know if Liam even knows, thinks he’ll probably never tell him because he doesn’t need more of a big head, how Noel can just _be_ around him. Doesn’t have to put on a front, doesn’t have to worry about what he says around him, doesn’t have to try to hold it together when its just them, because Liam sees through it all anyway.

It’s something like relief that has tears squeezing out from closed lashes into his palm, and he lets them, suddenly overwhelmingly grateful that he still gets to have this, when he really had thought it was gone forever. He’ll blame the pain for making him sappy later.

Maybe it’s the positive emotion for once, or the IV is finally starting to work, or maybe his body’s finally decided it’s unable to keep going any fucking longer, but he feels the pull of sleep soften the fire in his fingers and palm and stabilize the world under him, feels it make his shoulders heavy and his legs tingle. He almost moans in relief and chases the pull as hard as he can, focuses on the sound of Liam fidgeting like he always does but clearly trying to stay quiet for his benefit.

His exhausted brain blurs reality and he lets it, lets it float where it wants. He’s had his eyes closed for long enough that he can easily pretend they’re both back in their childhood bedroom, or high off their minds in some hotel room somewhere in the world, can even let himself believe he hears a record playing in the background.

It’s enough, and he falls asleep holding onto the shred of normalcy he’s carved out.

* * *

Liam had almost decked Paul when he’d told him what he’d done, shaky legs be damned. He’d settled for ripping him a new arsehole though, and Paul had looked at him warily until he was done and listened when he told him to get the fuck out.

He’d already been so worried about Noel, as much as he wouldn’t admit it to anyone. He’d looked absolutely awful earlier, like _he_ was the one who’d been stuffed in a trunk for hours and hours, pale and shaky and nothing like the solid presence he usually was. He’d gone over to his room as soon as he’d calmed down a little bit, had to steady himself against the headboard for a few seconds before he could walk, his legs still sore and tingling and his head still swimming, but he’d managed.

It had been hard to watch Noel all but writhe around, and he looked so small curled up on the bed, hiding behind his hand and sounding like the world had dug at him until he’d finally cracked, words slurred with pain and exhaustion. It was worse thinking about the recovery time Paul had told him about, of weeks and weeks of not being able to use his dominant hand, not being able to play, having to get his hand cut open, and for what?

He still has to grit his teeth thinking about it, how all this shit was because of a random act of violence. That was the kicker in the end, wasn’t it? Most of the time they deserve the crack in the face they get, from each other or anyone else, and Liam’s the first to admit it, but this - to be walking down the street, and to get set upon for no reason – he knows they didn’t deserve any of it. Even if he’s extra hard on himself, he knows he’s not put enough shit into the world to almost get his throat slit in some grimy alleyway, to get stuffed in some fucking trunk and fear for his life for hours on end, definitely knows Noel doesn’t deserve the pain he’s in right now.

He’d stayed until Noel had drifted off, not able to do anything to help but knowing Noel still needed someone there. He doesn’t always know _why_ , but he does always know _when_ Noel needs to be left alone (he doesn’t always do it, but that’s a different story) and he definitely knows when he needs people around him, even when he doesn’t ask or insists he wants to be left alone. This time, he could just tell that weird brain of his wouldn’t be able to relax if he didn’t have someone there to distract him.

Like clockwork, it had only taken a few minutes. Once he was out, Liam had stayed for a bit to make sure he was really asleep, peeking behind the now slack fingers at the perpetual pinched brows and the unsurprising wet lashes. He’d debated staying but knew he wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow if he forced himself to sleep upright in the hard chair, so he’d grumbled and tip toed out of the room as quiet as was humanly possible (for him at least), and Noel hadn’t stirred.

He'd stayed awake in his own bed for a while, staring at the ceiling and wishing he had some music around to distract himself. He falls asleep without meaning to, and wakes up in the dark and instantly knows he's in the trunk of a car.

 _I was out_ echoes all around him, but he can’t tell if it’s in his head or if its coming out of his mouth, can't move his hands or his feet. The trunk is even smaller, pressing into every bit of his skin, taking away all the air until there’s none left, choking the life out of him.

The trunk opens then, but the air doesn’t get any better, and he falls out into the alley, and Noel’s there, bloody and hurt. The baseball bat is discarded off to the side, clearly well used, and his brother’s face is a picture of pain. Liam wants to say something, but he can’t breathe enough to talk, his words dying off in a choked off gasp. Legs surround them then, and one pair steps in front of him, and he struggles to see Noel again.

He manages to peek through and meet his eyes, and Noel says _I’m doing this all for you_ before someone wrenches his head back and exposes his throat and a knife glints in the light and there’s blood, _so much blood,_ and Liam feels it cut into his own skin too, feels the overwhelming sting before the warm wetness immediately takes over.

He wakes up gasping and clutching at his throat, convinced for one brutal second that he’s going to feel warm blood and pain and open flesh before he realizes he’s in a hospital room, there’s white walls instead of dark brick and a soft bed instead of concrete and he’s alone and fine.

Shaking hands toss the blanket off of him, and he grimaces at the sweat prickling at the back of his neck and in his hair, and he feels his throat again, feeling the intact skin. Jesus, that had been so real. He can feel it down to the cold of the metal against his skin and the feeling of not being able to breathe, can smell the sweat and blood and garbage, can hear his own choking gasps and Noel-

The image of Noel, battered and bleeding, feels too close to how it had really been, and he finds he can’t tell the two apart in his head, both of them blurring at the seams. The realization does nothing to calm his racing heart, makes his breathing pick up even more as he forces himself to gulp down some water from the glass on his bed side.

_Noel’s fine, he’s down the hall, you just saw him, he’s safe._

He’s up and making for the door before he can even think about it, woozily having to take a second to get his legs under him. He’s walking again the second he can, almost on autopilot, flashes of the dream pinging around his head. There’s a different guard outside this time, and he looks at Liam warily, but wisely doesn’t say anything. Liam ignores him completely, squinting against the sudden light. He doesn’t even want to think about what a mess he looks right now, shaky and sleep rumpled, focuses on keeping his breathing somewhat steady as he beelines towards Noel’s room.

He slips into the room as quietly as he can and lets out the measured breath he was holding, shakily inhales, blinking as his eyes adjust back to darkness. His brother is asleep on his back, face turned away and illuminated in the faint moonlight peeking through the closed blinds, throwing lines of light along pale skin. The casted arm is still propped up on a cushion and the other one lies curled up next to his face.

Liam stands there for a while, lets the peacefulness of the whole thing envelop him, casts out all thoughts of how weird it is to stand and watch his brother sleep. Their breathing is the only sound in the room, his own still holding that edge of breathlessness and drowning most of Noel’s out.

His brain is all sort of messed up as it flashes between that bizarre dream to seeing the knife coming for him in the alley to feeling like he was suffocating in the tiniest space he’s ever been squeezed in. His limbs protest immediately at the last thought and he shudders, forcing himself to breathe in and out evenly, trying to match Noel’s even breathing, trying to ignore the fact that he’s in a hospital in some fucking city two hours away from home. Fuck, he doesn’t even know what it’s _called_.

The childlike urge to be at home, to not be in this hospital with it’s weird smells, and be surrounded by his things and his bed, is overwhelming all of a sudden, and he smacks his elbow into the doorknob when he shifts and doesn’t hold back his swear of pain fast enough. He holds still, but Noel inhales and shifts at the noise, head rolling on his pillow to face him.

“Paul, _shut up_ if yer gonna stay.” He mumbles out, each word folding into the next until it’s a barely understandable sentence, eyes closed and face almost translucent in the moonlight.

Liam stands very still, already regretting coming into Noel’s room like some scared little kid, like he’s not 23 and doesn’t spend all his time trying to convince everyone he’s a capable adult. He has to admit, grudgingly, that his hands are already shaking a lot less and his breathing is noticeably more even now, and he already feels the nightmare blurring around the edges, parts of it jumbled and vague.

It doesn't make it any less embarrassing though.

“It’s me.” He mumbles after a pause, because it’s too late to leave now without Noel noticing, and he can’t just stand there like a creep. Noel’s eyes squint open, and take a couple of seconds to sleepily focus on him.

“Mmm. What’s it?”

Liam can feel himself flushing. What the fuck is he doing, waking Noel up when he knew how hard it was for him to get some sleep?

“What?” Noel asks again, tired eyes blinking closed, fingers sliding over them clumsily, and Liam realizes he hasn’t said anything. “Y’alright?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat, speaks a little louder and clearer. “Yeah, sorry, was gonna check on you, didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep, I’ll just-“

He's rambling, even he can tell, and Noel predictably opens his eyes again with a lot of effort, and fixes him with a look that just bleeds skepticism. Liam opens his mouth to speak, to continue trying to play it off like it was just a concerned visit, but it’s the middle of the night and he’s shivering slightly in the thin t-shirt he’s in as the sweat on his skin dries off, can still feel the cold steel against his throat even though he knows the knife never touched him, and he knows there's no hiding it.

Noel’s face softens into something so understanding it nearly undoes him on the spot. Suddenly he’s a kid again, going to the only person he ever could go to, standing over his bed and poking him awake and praying that that particular night wouldn’t be the night that Noel yelled at him and told him to go back to his own bed.

(he never did)

He tries to convince himself that Noel can’t really see the tears welling up in his eyes, or how shaken he is because it’s so dark and he’s basically half asleep, but he knows he’s caught out. His brother lets him fidget for a few seconds, then wordlessly pats the spot next to him, on the other side of the bed that doesn’t have his casted arm. Liam bites back the urge to insist he doesn’t need it, that he isn’t a little kid anymore, too shaken up to even care.

Noel pulls back the blanket and gingerly moves over, settling down with a stilted gasp, sleepy eyes crinkling at the edges with pain now that Liam’s close enough to be able to see them. He hesitates, and Noel makes an insistent sound without opening his eyes, so he lays down carefully.

It’s tight. There’s not much room for two grown men and a shattered hand, and Liam wiggles around uncomfortably for a few seconds, and Noel patiently waits, eyes closed and still. Eventually, Liam settles half curled into him, arm to arm and knee to knee, cheek smushed against his shoulder. He’s only just realizing how cold he was now that he’s sinking into the cozy spot Noel’s just left, can feel him sleep warm right next to him.

“Are you okay?” He finds himself asking after a bit, before he’s intended to get the words out, voice dry and overly loud in the silence. Noel inhales, shifting slightly and seeming to drag himself out of the half doze he’d already drifted into. The rings he’d left on the side table glint in the moonlight.

“Mm, I’ll b’fine, after-“ A stifled yawn. “-th’surgery.”

Liam feels himself flush. Fuck, he’d forgotten about the surgery, even though Paul had just told him before he’d left. He’s really just woken his brother up in the middle of the night, a few hours before he needs to get his hand cut open, over a stupid dream.

Noel mumbles something that sounds like a question that for once Liam can’t make out, and he frowns at that. He’s usually fluent in Noel-speak.

“Huh?” he says, peeking up at his face. He really doesn’t look any better than he had a few hours ago, pale and pinched and bags under his eyes as dark as Liam’s ever seen them. Still, he doesn’t seem to be in as much pain as he was before, seems relatively relaxed next to him, and that does wonders for his nerves.

Noel licks his lips, tries to actually pronounce his words when he speaks.

“I _said_ , are you okay?”

“Yeh.” He mumbles, feeling his flush deepen. He feels really stupid now, and it feels even stupider that his dream had bothered him so much now that Noel is right next to him, hurting and exhausted but sleepy and talking and _safe_. “Just couldn’t stop thinking, s’all.”

Noel hums, like he knows exactly what he’s talking about, and Liam suddenly realizes that he probably does. He’s probably not going to forget how it feels to have your bones shattered the same way Liam’s not going to forget how it feels to not be able to breathe as the claustrophobia chokes your very being.

Noel fidgets, and his cheek leans into his hair, and a finger brushes against his where their hands are settled next to each other’s.

“Wake me up if y’keep thinking, yeah?” He says, sounds like he’s barely awake but sincere as can be.

Tears well up in Liam’s eyes again, and he furiously blinks them back, annoyed at how easily he keeps losing control. He just nods against Noel’s shoulder, not trusting his voice with the lump in his throat, feels the finger brush against his again. The silence stretches out all of ten seconds before the head on his goes slack and the breathing under his cheek evens out into peaceful sleep.

If he intentionally moves his hand an inch so their fingers loosely tangle into each other’s before he tries to get some sleep, no one really has any proof of that, do they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The harder my week is the sappier my chapter is so that's great I guess.


	7. Chapter 7

The surgery comes and goes. It’s two hours of the three of them waiting around in Liam’s room, tense silence almost stifling. No one had been in the mood to talk, especially Liam. He’d spent all morning hanging around in Noel’s room obnoxiously trying to distract him. His brother had been a very obvious nervous wreck leading up to it, which was very disconcerting to see since Noel usually expertly played off any nerves he had.

All morning, he’d been pale and stiff in the hospital gown he’d finally been bullied into, staring off into the distance. He’d snapped at Liam to shut the fuck up about an hour in, thumb bloody where he’d bitten into the skin and split lip bright with fresh blood where he’d gnawed into it. Liam had hummed and scatted after that, made it more and more ridiculous as time went on and ignored the twitch in his brother's bruised cheek as it wound him up, but Noel didn’t snap at him again which he took as a sign that it was working.

He’d kept it up when the nurses came in to take more blood and recheck Noel’s vitals, and then rechecked them _again,_ going on and on about dehydration and low blood pressure and the like, all of which was news to both of them. He could see from the slight blush on Noel’s face that they’d clearly told him all this last night but he had been too out of it to comprehend any of it. It was concerning, but also adorable, and Liam had sure to say so in front of the pretty nurse taking his blood pressure, who clearly bit back a smile while Noel glared at him.

When they’d finally come in to take him in, decked out in different scrubs and the like, Noel had immediately cradled his hand protectively with the other, almost unconsciously, and looked straight his way. Liam’s still not sure what he’d been looking for, reassurance or comfort or another distraction, but it looked for a second like he’d wanted Liam to save him, eyes bright with fear, and Liam had been unable to do anything but stare back.

Noel had just blinked and looked away, nodding when they asked if he was ready, small and nervous and uncertain.

Liam’s kicking himself for it now, sprawled in his own bed as he waits for it to be over, even as he tries to convince himself there’s really nothing he could have done.

The surgeon’s pleased when he eventually comes in to find them, a tall bloke with very calm eyes, and tells them they can come see him, and that he would be on pretty strong painkillers for a couple of days and would likely be asleep for most of it.

Noel’s predictably still out when they go in. Liam isn’t sure what he’d imagined he’d see, had thought there would be more wires and machinery and tubes, had been convinced there would be blood for some reason, but it’s not so bad. There’s an IV and a clip on Noel’s index finger and just the one beeping monitor, and he looks just like he had before they’d wheeled him in, pale and tired, except the drugs have his face more relaxed than Liam’s seen it in a while. His arm looks completely immobilized against his chest, like the cast they’d had on there before had multiplied by itself into some bizarre contraption, with an even bigger brace and multiple straps all over.

The surgeon drones on and on about aftercare, but Liam stops listening after the words “no long term damage”. That’s all he really needs to hear, and lets himself take a relieved breath. The fear had been niggling in his head the whole time, that somehow something would go wrong and Noel’s life would be over.

That would be it, no matter what anyone else thought. Noel played guitar right handed, and he figures the bastards probably knew it before they went for his left, and if Noel couldn’t play the guitar anymore, he doesn’t think his brother would ever get over it.

Liam doesn’t think _he’d_ get over it. He’s tried not to think about it until now, but if he didn’t have Noel next to him on that stage..he doesn’t think he’d ever get back up on it.

He shakes himself out of it, tunes back into the room. Their mam’s smoothing Noel’s hair back, and Paul’s still listening to the surgeon, looking like he’s three sentences behind and desperately trying to catch up.

Eventually, he lets them know only one of them can stay behind, and Liam just meaningfully brings the only chair in the room over to the bed and sits down without a word. Their mam looks like she wants to argue, but Paul convinces her to go get some food, and she reluctantly goes, pointedly telling him that they’ll be swapping when they get back.

Liam just smirks, jokingly holds his fist up at her, feeling happier than he has in a long while. She points a finger at him but he can see the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth too, the relief at the normalcy of it, sees it in Paul’s face too, and then they leave.

A weight that Liam hadn’t realized was on his shoulders is gone, and the sun shines outside, streams comfortingly into the room, and he almost forgets how miserable the whole night had been. The whole day, really. And the one before that. But in the moment it doesn’t matter. Noel would call him daft if he was awake, would tell him he was stupidly optimistic to think everything would be okay just like that, but Liam silences the voice for once.

He’s okay, Noel’s going to be okay, he’s still a good looking bastard, Noel will still be a grumpy cunt, it’ll take a few months and then they’ll be back in the studio, doing what they were born to do.

He happily chats with the nurses who come in to check on Noel, and they looks slightly taken aback with his sunny mood, but smile along with his ripping commentary about his brother, and don’t even complain about the liberal swearing thrown in.

“Oh, you spoke too soon. Looks like he’s waking up.” The blonde one says, watching the monitor. It looks the same to Liam, and Noel still looks completely out, but sure enough, his shoulder twitches after a few beats.

“Is he going to be in any pain?” Liam asks, suddenly concerned it’s going to be like last night, but she smiles reassuringly at him.

“No, he won’t feel anything. Probably won’t even remember this later.”

When Noel’s eyes pop open though, bleary and confused, Liam can immediately tell something is wrong. Whatever he’s plugged into starts beeping faster, drives a sense of urgency into the whole thing that sets him on edge.

The nurse talks to him like he’s a small child, soothing and gentle, asks him how he’s feeling, but Noel’s eyes track to her face and look at her like she’s the most terrifying thing he’s ever seen and he can’t understand a word she’s saying. He tries to move and the nurse on the other end holds his shoulder down with a reassuring murmur, keeping his arm steady, and Noel instantly shrinks away with a whimper and dissolves into full blown panic with a wretched gasp.

It escalates so fast Liam can’t even keep up. Someone’s dragging him back and away as Noel starts weakly thrashing, blanket rustling loudly around him, a stream of _no’s_ and _please don’ts_ filling the air as Noel groggily tries to get away with clearly little strength behind it. Liam’s frozen, lets himself be pulled away as his brain screams at him to _do something_ but his body refuses to comply.

The flurry of activity continues as both nurses try to calm him down and hold him steady, and Noel keeps pleading, chest heaving as he weakly struggles against the hold on him, the familiar raw fear bright in his eyes as he starts sobbing.

Liam’s out of the room then, numbly stands in the hallway like he’s not even in his body anymore, watches Noel’s legs weakly kicking under the blanket and the top of his head thrashing on the pillow past the nurses surrounding the bed. The pleading suddenly stops and Noel goes still, like someone’s turned off a switch, and the activity around him slows down but he keeps crying, heartbreaking sobs echoing in the sudden silence before the door is slammed shut in his face.

That knocks Liam out of it, fresh surge of panic at not being able to see Noel anymore kicking in, but someone holds him back when he tries to get in.

He swears and kicks out, thinks he can still hear Noel crying behind the door but can’t tell if he’s just hearing it in his head. He doesn’t stop until a nurse gets in his face and snaps at him to stop yelling before he scares his brother.

That does the trick and he goes still, has to cover his face and try to keep from crying when his arms are free. She pats him on the shoulder and reassures him it’s normal for patients to panic after waking up from surgery, but Liam _knows_ that wasn’t normal, knows the raw fear he just saw was well and truly real, and it makes him want to throw up.

He doesn’t get the chance, because the door opens and Liam pushes past before they can get two words out, almost bowls over the tiny one in his haste to get in, and beelines straight for the bed. He almost thinks he’s going to see Noel still struggling and pleading and crying, but his brother’s out again, machines hooked up to him beeping at a more peaceful pace and face relaxed and breathing calm like nothing had even happened.

A closer look and he’s gritting his teeth. Someone’s wiped Noel’s face but his lashes are still clearly wet and clumped, patch of hair over his ear damp where Liam can imagine the tears trickled out.

He drags the chair back and grabs Noels hand, finds he doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks, doesn’t think he’s ever paid attention to what a normal pulse feels like and he’s convinced this ones beating a little faster than it should, but the palm in his is warm and solid and it’s more comforting than he cares to admit.

The doctor from last night comes in a few minutes later and tries to reassure him that it’s not an unexpected reaction, especially given the trauma they’ve both been through, but Liam snaps when he tries to get him to wait in his own room and rest.

“No. Fuck no. If he wakes up again and freaks out-“ _what are you even going to do_ runs mockingly through his head but he stays firm. “I’m staying right here.”

“We’re going to keep him under for a few more hours and he should be fine once he wakes up, I can assure you-“

“Bollocks! That’s fucking bollocks, that’s what your fucking nurse said before and look what happened!”

“Sir, calm down.”

“Like fuck, I’ll calm down!” He glares at him. “I’m fucking staying. You want me out of here, you can have me dragged out.”

The guy considers him for a second, like he’s weighing up if it’s worth it, but then his face softens.

“Alright, you can stay. But you need to get some rest later, understand? You should not be out of bed for so long.”

Liam bites back the retort of _I’m fucking fine_ that’s on his lips and just nods. Once he leaves, Liam looks back at Noel, completely conked out.

“See, I can be _rational_.” He mutters, and settles down to keep watch.

* * *

He sits there for hours, lost in his own head, and as promised, Noel’s out the whole time. The sunlight that had been so comforting and cheery before now just mocks him, makes his eyes burn even though the window is behind him. His mam and Paul come in at some point but Liam refuses to move, and they frown at him in concern before they leave to wait in his room, the tension a far cry from how normal everything had been before Noel had woken up.

He’s still stewing in his own head, replaying the last few days in his head even though he knows it’ll do him no good, when there’s a mutilated groan, and Liam holds his breath. Noel opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, and then there’s a very slow blink before he turns to him.

There’s no fear, only confusion and exhaustion. Liam releases about two tons of tension at the sight.

“Was I shouting?” Noel rasps after a pause, licking his lips. Liam shakes himself a little bit, and fishes out an ice chip for him, finds himself unable to let go of his hand. 

“Aren’t you always?” He says, hesitant to tell him for some reason. Noel just frowns sleepily and sucks on his ice chip, his eyes drooping closed but stubbornly trying to stay awake.

“I don’t.” He protests, sounds like a toddler protesting bedtime.

“Surgery went fine. Doctor said you’ll be right as rain in a couple a weeks.”

“Mmm. C’n I have nother?”

“Huh?”

Noel tuts. “Cold..ice, thing.”

Liam gets him another one, and they sit in silence. “Do you want to see Paul? And mam?”

Noel’s frown clears abruptly and he shakes his head, face settling into something so sad it hurts to see.

“What?” 

“Nothing.” He sniffles, swallowing down his ice chip.

“M gonna sleep now.” He says, and promptly drops off, hand still gripping in his own going slack.

Liam stays for a few more minutes and tries to calm down his anxiety, then gives up and leaves. His mam and Paul immediately go in to sit with Noel, and Liam lies down and tries to get some sleep, but only manages a half doze, brain running a mile a minute, furious that the fragile peace he’d managed to find is well and truly cracked by some sick déjà vu.

* * *

He’s completely wound up when Paul pokes his head in with a grim frown after what feels like hours, and Liam can tell it's not going to be anything good when two very serious looking men walk in behind him. They’re in regular clothes, but Liam catches sight of the badge shining in one of their pockets.

"What, am I under arrest?" He snarks nervously, sitting up. Nobody laughs, predictably, and the forced smile instantly drops from his face. The one closest to him, blonde hair shining in the sun streaming in, pulls out a stack of photographs from a folder.

“We need you to look through these pictures and tell us if any of them look familiar.”

Liam just nods, heart suddenly in his throat. He wants to ask why but morbid curiosity wins out. The first picture is unfamiliar, and so is the second, and he explains he didn’t see most of the faces surrounding them. He recognizes the third one as the guy who’d straddled Noel and kept him from screaming, and the fourth one is the one who’d come at him with a knife. He grits his teeth through explaining those, doesn’t recognize the next two, but he just knows who the last one is going to be, and suddenly it's there, like it's jumped out of his dreams in front of his eyes.

He swallows, glances up at the eyes on him then looks back just to be sure, even though it's probably a face he's never going to forget. A hard face looks up at him, two-bit’s mouth set in a hard frown, but it's the eyes that bore into his soul, cold and dead. 

"Do you recognize him?" 

_Flashes of those eyes dancing with delight, Noel half sobbing in the background._

Liam swallows, feels his ears ring as he nods and hands back the picture. Everyone can see his hand shaking.

"He was there." He says, clenching his fist in his lap so it stays still, grits his teeth. "That's the cunt who broke my brothers hand."

More questions get thrown his way, and he answers them until he can hear his own voice shake and Paul steps in and tells them they’ll have to come back if they want to ask more. They nod understandingly, and thank him and then they’re gone.

As soon as they leave, Liam’s up.

“Wait, Liam-“

“Fuck off.” He snarls, and violently shoves Paul's hand away. “I need to piss.”

“You have your own bathroom!” Paul calls after him, which is true, but Liam stalks down the hall to the open one and locks the door behind him before he lets out the gasp he’d been holding in.

His hands are shaking horribly, and they haven’t stopped since Noel woke up, and if he tries to listen past his thundering heartbeat in his ears, he can hear himself breathing like he’s just run up a hill, raspy and strained.

He can feel the panic bubbling up his throat, tries to tell himself it’s irrational, that there’s no reason for the visceral fear running through his veins but he can’t make himself believe it, can’t make himself ignore the edge of helplessness.

It _stings,_ and suddenly he can’t imagine a time he didn’t feel like this, can’t think about anything but the thrum of raw fear when he’d seen that knife heading for his throat, can’t stop seeing Noel’s face panicked and pained, the suffocating darkness of the trunk, and those _eyes_. He squeezes his own shut and tries to get them out of his head, but they glint menacingly at him, the skinny face attached to them sneers at him as it yells at him to _choose_ and then morphs into his old fellas face, the smell of beer breath wafting over him, the sheer inability to do _anything_ to stop it all taking his breath away.

He trashes the entire bathroom, raging and snarling, and tries and tries to get the familiar destruction make sense of what he’s feeling, kicks at a stall door until it’s well and truly dented and doesn’t realize he’s been crying the whole time until he has nothing left to smash.

* * *

Noel spends two entire days completely out of it. He’s on heavy painkillers and his hand stings angrily whenever they start wearing off, and by then some nurse comes in and gives him more and the whole cycle starts over again.

It’s a blur with no context of time, only broken by a steady stream of people by his bedside the entire time, not that he stays awake and coherent long enough to talk to anyone. Or maybe he does, and just doesn’t remember, he has no way of being sure. His family keeps up regular appearances, and Bonehead and Guigsy and Marcus pop in once, and it’s awkward enough that he willingly falls asleep to escape it.

By the third day, they wean him off slightly and he can actually stay awake. He’s still groggy and tired, like he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in a while even though that’s all he’s really done for two whole days. His hand keeps up a steady throb and he has to work to ignore it, but it’s still bearable, the painkillers very clearly keeping the edge off. The contraption his hand is in is uncomfortable and pulls at his neck but it’s nearly impossible to move his arm and accidentally hurt himself, so he sucks it up and only whines about it a little bit.

Liam spends most of the day with him, rambles on and on about everything and nothing but pointedly avoids anything to do with their current situation, and Noel lets him. It’s the first time he’s been coherent enough to notice, but for all the bluster, the kid looks tired and..faded, like someone’s smudged out parts of him. It makes something in Noels chest ache and brings back the paranoia in his gut that they’re going to be forever changed by this whole thing, something he’s been trying to talk himself out of ever since they got Liam back.

The fourth day, his hand throbs relentlessly and Liam’s forcibly kept in his room to rest. It’s his brothers second to last day in hospital, and he still has three more to go before he can get out and go back to London, back _home_. Paul briefly hangs around, but doesn’t stay long, instead spends most of his time with Liam to keep him entertained and make sure he doesn’t start destroying things again. It’s understandable, but irritating an hour later. His mam stays the whole time instead, regales him with details of what the doctors have been saying and what they’ve heard from the police on developments and the court case and how worried she is about Liam, and only stops when Noel almost snaps at her, forcing himself to ask her as politely as he can through gritted teeth. They sit in tense silence after that, Noel keeping his eyes firmly closed and pretending like he’s asleep, knowing full well she doesn’t buy it.

It’s a very irritated version of him that blows out with her on day five. He’s well and truly sick of being stuck in bed, constantly groggy and sore, and hadn't gotten any sleep the night before. Paul had dropped by before he'd left for the night and told him he was concerned about Liam, recounted him having to identify the people they’d arrested a few days go, which Noel hadn’t known about, because obviously Liam had just decided not to mention it.

He knows his brother had meant well when he’d asked Noel to keep an eye on him because he was worried Liam wasn’t handling it well and was barely sleeping, but Noel had barely kept himself from strangling him. How the fuck was he supposed to keep an eye on Liam, uncontrollable as he normally was, stuck in bed and half out of his mind on painkillers? He’d said as much, and they’d snapped back and forth until Paul had left, and Noel had spent all night tossing and turning, unable to stop thinking about everything. They’d taken his hand out of the monster contraption and it was elevated on a cushion again, but it still hurt like a bitch. He’d almost gone over to Liam’s room himself, and had only stopped the thought in its tracks because he could barely walk five steps to the bathroom, let alone down the hall. The flood of memories is too much, images and feelings he’d stubbornly kept out of his mind, but they’re inescapable after Paul leaves him alone with his thoughts.

His nerves are frayed come morning, the entire night a miserable blur of memories and paranoia and concern and pain. He can’t get over how vulnerable he suddenly feels now that he can put a coherent thought together and his surgery is over with, in some tiny city hours away from home, surrounded by strangers. Everyone’s been mostly kept out other than family to not attract any attention. Logically, he knows none of the people who attacked them are roaming free, knows it was a random event and not some orchestrated plot against them that he still needs to worry about, but the irrational part of him can’t stop latching onto the feeling that it isn’t over.

It’s a concerned comment about Liam that sets him off, because suddenly he can’t handle any of it. Even as he’s yelling at his mam to _stop harping on about Liam for fucks sake_ and she snaps back, some detached part of him wonders why he can’t let his irritation with her go this time. Usually, they’ll have a couple of petty arguments before they let it go, neither of them apologizing and just pretending it never happened. Deep down, he knows why, knows it’s because he’s been well and truly stuck in bed among the constant loop of news and nurses and pain and grogginess, hasn’t been able to get the distance from her he usually can when they fight where he can simply not call her for a week until they both cool down. But mostly, he knows It’s because he can’t stop hearing her blame him, can’t get past the undercurrent of _accusation_ he always hears (or imagines he hears) when she talks about Liam or any of the rest of it, which is all she’s spoken about whenever he's seen her.

She looks like she wants to slap him and bizarrely, he really wishes she would.

He’s ashamed of himself the second she leaves (sans apology, he notes bitterly), knows everyone just heard him yelling at his mother, but stubbornly holds onto his rage and digs his shaking fingers into his eyes.

Footsteps storm down the hall towards him, and Noel prays to whatever god is out there that the door somehow magically locked itself.

“What the fuck was that all about? Were you just _yelling_ at mam?”

“Jesus.” Noel groans behind his fingers, long and hard. “Fuck _off_.”

Predictably, Liam doesn’t, and Noel drops his hand. They both furiously glare at each other.

“The fuck I will. Where do you get off talking to her like that?”

“How about you stay out of it, right? You-“

“Oy, I’m not staying out of anything. She’s my mam too, yeah?

“Liam.” He breathes, clenching his fist hard enough to draw blood as he sits up, groaning at the pain in his chest as his rib protests. “You don’t fucking know _anything_.”

“All I need to know is she’s my mam and I’ll fucking knock out any cunt that talks to her like that, even if it’s you.”

“What, you gonna throw a punch?” He sneers. “Rip me stitches out, like a hard fucker? Ask around, someone probably has a bat.”

“Shut up.” Liam growls. “Shut the fuck-“

“No, fuck _you_ , right? You want to start a fight, then fucking start one, or _get out_.”

“I did start one, we’re already fighting, you dumb cunt. You’re acting like a right bellend.”

“What, _you’re_ the only one who gets to act like a shithead? And _I_ get to spend my whole life keeping your head out of the fire? Get to _fuck.”_

 _“_ I don’t need you to do anything. I can handle meself, me.”

“Nobody else fucking seems to think so!” Noel yells a little hysterically. “Every cunt is here every fucking hour talking about _Liam_ and _Noel you have to look after Liam._ Get my hand fucking broken and sliced open and everyone’s still fucking _crying_ over Liam.”

“So, what, you’re fucking jealous? You can’t be that daft.”

“I am so sick of being responsible for you and your fucking- reckless shit-“

“Oy, hang on, you better not be blaming this whole thing on me.”

“I do fucking blame you, you cunt. You fucking couldn’t keep your mouth shut-“

“Not this again-“

“If you had just _kept your fucking mouth shut_ -“  
  
“What, I was supposed to have a cup of tea while he-“ Liam trails off, and they both glare in the silence. “I did what I did, and I’m not sorry.”  
  
“Of course you’re not sorry, you never are! I’m always the one who has to deal with the fallout from your reckless bullshit-”

“Oy, hang on. I’m not the one who checked himself out of hospital right? That was you, mate, if we’re talking reckless here.”

“I had my reasons for that.”

“Bollocks. What, were you _prowling_ the streets, looking for me like inspector gadget or summat?”

“Use your fucking daft head, Liam.” Noel spits. “I wasn’t about to tell mam over the phone, was I?”

There’s another stretch of silence before Liam speaks again, venom dripping out of his tone.

“You can call me reckless all you want, right, if it makes you feel better on your fucking high horse, but we both saw the way that sick bastard was looking at you, and if I had let him take you, he would have fucking killed you and we both know it.”

Noel flinches like he’s been stung and Liam instantly regrets it. The words hang heavy in the air, cruel and fucked up and one hundred percent true.

Noel takes a shaky breath, and then another, like he’s a kid who’s gotten hurt desperately trying to stay brave and not cry.

“Jesus, Liam.” He says reproachfully, digging his fingers into his eyes, and Liam winces regretfully. When Noel drops his hand, his eyes are wet.

“Get out.”

“Noel-“

“I can’t get out of this bed and kick you out so please. Just go.” Noel says, voice shaking as he tearfully glares at him.

Liam sighs, mutters an apology under his breath and goes.

* * *

Noel’s calmed down on the outside when he hears Paul walk in, pillow firmly on his face, but his mind is still a mess of emotion. He really wishes he could just sleep and wake up in his own bed, in his own room with a _locked_ door.

“You know she’s not going to apologize, right?”

“No way. _Really_?” He says into the pillow, hopes Paul can hear the sarcasm dripping from his words. He’s usually pretty good at that.

“Why are you still waiting for one, then?”

Noel wants to snap, wants to tell Paul to fuck off, maybe yell at him a bit too and see if it’ll make him feel better, but he’s spent.

“I dunno.” He mumbles, feels his eyes sting and his voice shake around the sudden ache in his throat. “I dunno what’s wrong with me.” 

Paul sighs. “She’s sorry, and we both know it, eh? But she’s never going to say it.”

“I know.” He sniffles, tossing the pillow off to the side, blinks at the ceiling in frustration. “I know that. I- it’s not even about that.”  
  
“What is it about, then?” Paul asks gently, poking his arm until he looks his way. It’s a good question, and he really wishes he had a simple answer.

“I don’t-“ He rubs at his eyes, furiously willing himself not to cry again like his life has devolved into some soap opera. “I don’t know. It’s all of it, there’s just- _too much of it_.”

Paul blinks at him, the dense bastard, and Noel wants to scream in frustration.

“If I fucking knew, I would just fix it, wouldn’t I?” He mutters instead, looking away.

“Do you want me to talk to her?”

 _It’s not even about her,_ he wants to snap, even though it kind of is.

“No.” He says instead, then firmer. “ _No_ , just-“

A breath. “I think you should take her back to London. Stay at mine for a bit.”

“She’s not gonna agree to that.”

“Make her agree then, Paul.” He snaps. “You want to help? Get her to stop hovering, it’s doing my nut in.”

“She’s not going to be happy about leaving Liam here.”

Of course it's about Liam. Noel wants to scream, and then cry.

“We have security up the arse, we’ll be fine.” He says after he takes a deep breath. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Just-get her out of here.”

He can feel Paul looking at him appraisingly, but he closes his eyes and tries to ignore the now searing pain in his hand. He supposes he deserves it for getting so worked up.

"Alright, I'll take her back. Are you going to be okay here on your own?"

It's nice to hear, as childish as he knows he's being. He nods. 

"Yeh. Just gonna catch up on some sleep." He mumbles, eyes firmly closed, and Paul pats his shoulder and leaves him to his swirling thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> could i go easier on these two? ya. will i? probably not. 
> 
> am i projecting my issues with my own mom onto noel? yes and ill do it again lmao


	8. Chapter 8

It's Noel's nightmare come true when word of their assault gets out, as predictable as it is. He had naively been holding out hope that they would be able to fly under the radar, but the media storm is bigger than even he could have predicted. Two of the most loutish rockstars in Britain attacked in some seedy alley was a dream story, even if details of Liam's subsequent kidnapping didn't get out.

The resulting chaos verges on the edge of just _too much_ , and Noel has to kick everyone out of his room and just _breathe_ for ten minutes before he's ready to deal with it. He has to do a lot of yelling to convince the hospital to release him and Liam, even though he's still supposed to stay for three more days and Liam for one. They only listen hours and hours later when the crowd of fans and journalists outside gets larger and larger and their security can't keep up, even with police help. One reporter makes it all the way to their floor before he's stopped, and the whole thing makes Noel's heart jump in his throat and stay there. It's too much, to be in some hospital in some city he's never been in, and everyone knows where they are and what's happened to them. Liam comes and sits in his room with him all day, as much for his own benefit as Noel's, and they sit in stony silence until they're able to leave. 

* * *

Their management finds them a house not too far outside of London, secluded and safe, with security bursting at the seams. Liam's resulting fit when he'd found out he couldn't go home was understandable but also exhausting, so Noel's already irritated when they’re finally all but smuggled out of the hospital and driven over. 

They wait in the car while security goes in to make sure everything is safe, and Noel's struck by how bizarre the whole situation is. Here he is, about to spend a whole week with Liam in what is essentially a safe house, surrounded by security until their court date to testify against their assailants/kidnappers, after which they’re hoping the media hype dies down enough that they can go back to their actual houses. Even their Mam and Paul, who Noel had insisted go back to Manchester to be safe, were in a similar place. 

"Bizarre, innit?" Liam says in the silence, and Noel just hums, already queasy enough in the bright afternoon light to not be bothered to tell him to _stay out of my head._

Once they get the go ahead, he goes straight inside and to the stairs, ignores Liam's look of concern and doesn't even bother waiting for the bags that had been packed for them. He's already exhausted and wobbly from the drive and the waiting and just general everything and his arm's starting to feel like it weighs a ton where its securely strapped to his chest. Fifteen minutes in the sun and he's already ready for a nap, like a real rockstar. 

A couple of minutes later, he's collapsing into bed in one of the bedrooms, still fully dressed, and only has the energy to kick off his shoes before he's out like a light. 

* * *

Noel stumbles downstairs what has to be hours later, disoriented as all hell by how it's already dark outside. He still feels like he could go sleep all night and wake up the next day, the medication he's on keeping him in a constant state of grogginess. 

Sipping some water to get the disgusting sleep taste out of his mouth, he follows the sounds of the television in the next room, not sure where anything in the house is. He finds Liam sitting stone faced on the couch in near darkness watching the news. He doesn't know what he expected to see, but his stomach twists uncomfortably as he watches footage of the giant crowd outside the hospital, reporters all but chasing doctors and staff coming in and out in an attempt to get details. 

"Turn that shit off." He snaps at Liam, harsher than he meant to, and Liam startles a little and glares at him, but predictably keeps watching. 

“They don’t know we’re not still there.” Liam says, and Noel sighs and collapses into the arm chair on the side a little harder than he’d intended, and has to stifle a groan when his ribs protest.

He can feel Liam glancing at him appraisingly, but he ignores him, and they both watch the chaos in silence for a few minutes until it switches to a view of the courthouse.

"-there is no confirmation yet on wether the Gallagher brothers will be here in person to testify Thursday morning, but-"

Liam abruptly switches off the television with a muttered swear, and tosses the remote onto the coffee table with a loud clang. Noel flinches and grits his teeth, not awake enough to deal with Liam's explosive temper.

The explosion doesn't come. Liam just sits there staring at the coffee table, dark eyebrows drawn and lips already bitten red raw in the dim light.

“I don’t want to testify.” He blurts out after a pause, eyes boring into Noel’s angrily and more than a little helplessly. “I don’t- they found me in the guys fucking trunk! What more do they need?”

Noel sighs. It's not an unfair point.

"I don't either, but nowt we can do about it right? Just have to get it over with."

Liam huffs. "Don't really _have_ to. We're rockstars, for christ sake, what the hell is all the money good for if not this?"

"Money is what got you stuck in that trunk to begin with, you knob." Noel sighs again, wishes for what feels like the millionth time in his life that he didn’t have be the voice of reason with Liam. "We're nowhere near important enough to change the legal system, no matter what you may think."

Liam opens his mouth to argue some more, and Noel cuts him off. "And I dunno about you, but I don’t need our missing testimonies to be the reason any of those cunts get to walk free. Do you?”

Liam's mouth immediately snaps shut, his face falls and he looks away, like he hadn’t thought about that, and it’s the most unsatisfying victory Noel’s ever had with him.

He tries to think of something to soften the blow, but finds he has nothing to offer. They were told it would be a private trial, but the thought of sitting in front of _anyone_ and recounting details of what happened has his palms sweating and has him flashing back to having to do it for the police when they were trying to find Liam. It's like a nightmare he thought was over but is still dragging on, and as queasy as it makes him, he knows it'll be even worse for his brother, with an even longer story to get through and a much smaller fuse. 

“Oy.” He says, and Liam looks ten years younger when he looks back at him. Noel still doesn’t have anything comforting to say, so he blows past it entirely. “What d’you want for dinner? I’ll send out for some takeaway. My treat.”

Liam lets himself be distracted and rolls his eyes at him. “Like I wasn’t gonna have you pay for everything here anyway. Rich bastard.”

A pause.

“Chinese would be good, eh?”

* * *

They're both ready to kill each other by the time the day of the trial rolls around. The house is big enough that they don't have to be in each others space all the time, but the boredom and nerves don't treat them well. Noel can't play his guitar and it starts hitting him a day or two in that he won't be able to for weeks, and its enough to drive him into a proper strop. He’d tried writing with his right hand and had immediately tossed what he’d come up with, miserable and barely readable drivel that it was.

Liam, unable to occupy himself without constant company, alternates between drinking himself into oblivion in front of the television or finding Noel and driving him up the wall. They argue constantly, testy and unable to physically brawl because of Noel's injuries, and Noel finds himself slightly relieved about the fact. He's had to half keep an eye on his brother the whole time, convinced that a proper meltdown is right around the corner for him, keeps tabs on how much he's drinking and snorting, and finds himself very uneasy with the slightly unhinged energy that he's been giving off. 

Between the constant grogginess and sleeping most of his days away, the fighting and constant monitoring, the ever present ache in his hand and ribs, and the constant lingering dread of the trial, it's quite possibly the worst week of his life. 

They both get driven over to the courthouse, and Noel finds himself getting more and more anxious the further they get into the city. He can taste blood again where he's been constantly biting into his hangnail that hasn't gotten a chance to heal, staring at the back of the seat in front of him and trying to get his nerves under control. He hadn't slept a lick last night, had tossed and turned until his ribs had forced him to lie still and then he'd just stared at the ceiling, mind racing for hours and hours. 

He can see the bags under Liam's eyes too, uncharacteristically quiet in the backseat next to him, staring out the window as they slowly roll through traffic, and he knows he's running through the coaching they got last night from their lawyer too.

* * *

The second they get out of the city and traffic thins out and the buildings turn to trees and open fields, Liams snapping at the driver to pull over and stumbling out to get sick all over the grass on the side of the road. 

Noel sighs, tells Marcus to stay put, and struggles to shuffle out of the same door, on the wrong end of the car. 

He's wobblier than he wants to admit after spending near the entire day in court, head sluggish and pounding, hand throbbing where it's tucked into his suit jacket, empty sleeve hanging off the side. 

He almost tips over when he crouches down next to his brother but manages to stay up, a little ways down the road from where the car is parked. Liam just blankly stares at the grass where he's just puked everywhere, and Noel's chest aches in sympathy and an undercurrent of pride. He'd had to sit and watch as Liam had stumbled through his testimony, face getting blanker and voice getting shakier as the questions had gone on, and he'd clearly been on the verge of losing his temper and yelling by the end of it. Noel had managed to catch his eye and given him the strongest warning look he could muster, and it had thankfully worked. He'd still looked like someone had killed his cat by the end of it, and even the judge had looked sympathetic. 

Noel had switched on his media persona the second it had been his turn, and his hands shook and his heart beat somewhere in his throat the whole time, but his voice hadn't wavered once and he was sure he'd successfully kept his face blank.

He's not sure if he's proud of that or not.

They stay crouched at the side of the road, both lost in their silent thoughts as the occasional car whizzes by. Once again, Noel finds he has no words, nothing to say to make any of it any better. To think it's all over now that their testimonies are done is wishful enough that Noel won't even allow himself to think it, let alone say it to make Liam feel better. They still have to wait for a verdict, no matter how open and close everyones assured him the case is, and wait for the storm to die down before they can even think about mentally processing everything that's happened. 

Noel gives Liam until his knees start aching and his injuries start protesting too much for him to ignore, and then he gently nudges him. Liam takes a deep breath and lets out an annoyed groan, like Noel's being unreasonable for not wanting to stay at the side of the road all day, but gets to his feet and helps Noel up once he starts struggling to stand with one hand. 

Liam steadies Noel as he stumbles slightly, and they both wordlessly regard each other, nod, and head back to the car.

Liam falls asleep on the drive back and Noel desperately wants to do the same, but forces himself not to, finds himself irrationally not wanting to fall asleep _just in case._

It's a very subdued version of his little brother that he wakes up and guides into bed, and has to peek his head in ten minutes later to make sure he's actually asleep. He fights the urge to just go sleep in the same bed as him, instead goes back to his own through the darkened hallway, and prepares to spend all night staring at the ceiling and letting the memories he'd had to relive again today run through his head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two boys I want to love and protect but i only have one pair of arms?? 
> 
> I’ve also just realized we’ve clearly gone way beyond 12 hours lol this story has really gotten away from me but no regrets


	9. Chapter 9

The fight they have the next morning is one of their worst. Liam would even put it up with the cricket bat incident of ’94, because the only thing that had stopped him from smashing a bottle of tequila straight into Noel’s face was the fact that he was already hurt. He’d launched it straight at the wall instead, taken some very twisted pleasure in the way glass shards had exploded out like flecks of light and tequila had splashed all over, and Noel had sneered at him with raw fury in his eyes and called him a fucking coward.

He’d been half drunk at 9 in the morning, too wired and crushed from yesterday to do anything else when Noel had wandered downstairs and told him the guilty verdict the courts had given all six guys involved in their assault. 20 years each.

Noel hadn’t sounded happy, had sounded a little too casual, like he was hedging against how Liam would react, and Liam had waited for some reaction to come. Relief, happiness, aggravation, anything, but he’d found himself staring at the half full glass of tequila in front of him and felt nothing but numb. He’d sneered back something that he can’t even remember now, felt it slip acrid and biting off of his tongue, eyes fixed on the swirling brown liquid and fingernails biting into his palm, and Noel had growled and fisted his hair and yanked it back so hard his scalp still stings.

They’d screamed their throats raw at each other until the shattering bottle had apparently been the last straw and their security had come and broken them up. One of them had carefully held Noel in place and the other had bodily picked him up and pulled him out of the room, and he’d kept yelling long after he was out. His throat had hurt with the intensity, both how loud he had been and the lump lodged in there that didn’t seem to resemble any emotion he could put his finger on, but it had felt _good_ , had felt like _something t_ o yell at Noel.

He finds Noel smoking on the balcony once he’s cooled himself down, and wonders if his brother had had the same thought.

Probably did, he decides. Manipulative bastard.

Noel gives him the barest of glances and wordlessly offers him a ciggie when he joins him, and Liam takes it, and just like that the fight is over.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to smoke.”

“I’m arsed.” Noel says almost bitterly, tosses the old one on the floor and briefly struggles to light himself a new one with one hand before he passes the lighter over. “A couple won’t kill me.”

The crack is right on his tongue, how that’s a stupid thing to be doing so soon after a surgery, but he’s still slightly drunk and it’s not even noon so he doesn’t think he has a leg to stand on and stays silent.

They smoke leaning over the balcony for a peaceful few minutes, staring out into the woods past the gated back garden. It’s a sinfully nice day, clear and slightly sunny and it makes his skin itch. He still can’t shake the feeling that something horrible is right around the corner, had banked on the cunts that had attacked them getting locked away to help him shake the feeling, but now it’s done and he finds he doesn’t feel one bit better.

“I think I want to talk to someone.” He blurts out into the silence, and Noel glances at him patiently. “A professional or summat.”

“What, like a shrink?”

“I guess. Maybe?”

Noel shrugs, face the picture of casual disinterest as he turns back to the woods. A bird chirps loudly in a tree somewhere. “Could do. Might help.”

“You should come with me.”

There’s a scoff. “That’s not gonna happen.”

"Noel, come on, man. Would do us some good, eh?"

You knock yourself right out, then."

"I just might, but would be good to have some company, yeah? I don't wanna do it alone."

Noel sighs, fixes him with a look. “I would do a lot of things for you, right. But if you think I’m going to sit in a room with a fucking shrink and talk about my feelings, you really are fucked in the head.”

“Why would that be so bad? We should talk about it, eh? Clear our heads and all that.”

“We’ve talked more than enough if you ask me.”

“Good thing I ain’t asking you then, yeah? Because that’s fucking stupid. All we’ve done is yell.”  
  
Noel straightens up, gingerly lifts his broken hand off the balcony and settles it back into the sling.

“That’s how we usually talk innit?” He snarks, and Liam fumes.

“It’s not funny. You've barely said two words to me unless we've been arguing about summat. I didn’t even know half the things you said up on that fucking stand until you said them!”

It’s the truth. He'd had no idea the amount of details the police had gotten from him, had no idea two random geezers had found him in that godforsaken alley nearly thirty minutes later, how he’d jumped on a plane barely an hour later to go straight to Manchester. It was the part of the story he hadn’t seen or heard, and it had made him feel better and worse all at the same time.

Noel flinches as soon as the testimony is mentioned, and Liam sees his face close off. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“There it is, right there! Every time I want to talk about it, you shut me out, there’s your fucking problem right there!”

“What, I have a problem because I don’t want to sit around sharing my feelings every fucking hour?” Noel snaps, bushy eyebrows drawn. “And you- you know what, you’re one to talk. Tell me, were we supposed to do our feelings circle before, after, or during you shoving ten fucking grams of coke up your nose? Or in the middle of your third bottle of booze of the day?”

“Don’t be a cunt. I’ve been coping how I could, right?”

“Yeh, so have I! How is that any different?”

“Because!” Liam growls. “Because I would rather have talked, I _wanted_ to talk to you about it, but every time i tried you shut me out!”

“Could give two shits what you _wanted._ You’ve been acting like a right lunatic and I had all me own shit to deal with, I can’t be dealing with yours too.”

“Fucking right you have a problem, you selfish twat. It’s _our_ fucking shit isn’t it? We went through the same fucking thing, we could have talked about it-“

The fury that crosses Noel's face startles the anger out of him for a second. "We did not go through the same thing, let's be clear about that here."

“That’s not-!” It comes roaring back, and he resists the urge to throw a punch. “That’s not the point you fucking prick! You got to go get Mam and Paul to take care of you and I got shoved in a fucking trunk thinking I was gonna die, it doesn’t fucking matter,this isn't a pissing contest! It sucked for both of us, right, but you've been walking around here like a fucking robot, like nothing even fucking happened!"

Something shifts in Noel's face, the anger that had been building as he’d carried on melts into something disbelieving.

“What, gonna shut down again now? Yell at me and pull me hair?”

“Shut up.”

“Fucking typical, you cyborg. We get somewhere-“

“Liam, shut the fuck up. I'm fucking serious, cast or no, I'm going to beat your head in.” Noel growls, angrily throws his cigarette to the side and makes to leave, but Liam blocks his way. “Move.”

"No. I want to talk about it."

"I don't give a shit what you want. Get out of the way."

Liam stands his ground, and they both glare at each other for a tense few seconds before Noel grits his teeth.

“You’re a real fucking cunt, you know? What, because I haven't been blabbering on about it, I didn't feel anything?" Noel looks almost hurt again, Liam can see that look in his eye that he's gotten very good at recognizing. "You of all people should know better." 

“You haven’t said nought since we got to this fucking prison of a house, how am I meant to know?”

"I never have to! You know I fucking don't, that's what-" Liam can hear the _that's what the music is for_ that Noel doesn't say as he gestures with his good arm wildly. "Jesus Christ. You were fucking missing, you were _gone._ For twelve fucking hours, I didn’t know if you were fucking - _dead_ in a ditch somewhere, if we would ever even fucking find a body, your fucking _body_ , and you what? Like _nothing even happened_? That's what you thought, eh?"

Noel swallows, eyes boring angrily into Liam’s, and Liam wants to give him a hug and punch him out at the same time. He does neither.

“See, this is why we talk, yeah? Don’t you fucking feel better?”

“Feel-no I don’t fucking feel better, you dick! Why would I feel better reliving the worst fucking day of my life?” Noel rages, looks like he’s two seconds away from throwing a punch too. “Fuck me, like it wasn’t bad enough doing it in front of all those fucking piece of shit lawyers!”

Noel closes his eyes and rubs his forehead like he wants to rub the skin clean off and just stands there, and Liam opens his mouth and closes it, tries very hard not to think about how soul crushing it had been to think about the worst time of his life.

“No one else will understand, yeah?” He says carefully. “They’ll try, right, Mam and our kid and every other cunt, but they weren’t there.”

“Oh they understand, don’t you worry about that.” Noel says bitterly.

“What does _that_ mean?”

“Fucking- nothing. Can we be done talking now? You got what you wanted, yeah?”

“ _Noel._ “ He grits out, reminds himself he can’t slap him across the face as much as he wants to. “Don’t fucking shut me out. Is this about Mam again?”

“No. I just poured my fucking feelings out, right, and I’m done now. Move.”

“ _No_. I haven’t forgotten you being a dick to her at the hospital. You know, she calls every day and asks about you.”

“I’m arsed.”

“Oy, this is our M _am_. What’s your fucking problem?”

“I don’t have a problem, _she_ does!” Noel snaps, then sighs long and hard, looks like he’s aged ten years in the last ten minutes and looks every bit as tired as Liam knows he is.

“What? Did you fight or summat? She’ll get over it, you know what she’s like.”

“I don’t want to get into this. Drop it, yeah?”

Liam can feel the defenses dropping, thanks his years of chipping away at Noel’s defenses the way only he can. “No. Tell me.”

“ _Liam_.”

“Tell me.”

“Jesus, you’re annoying.” Noel grits out.

"Tell me."

Noel looks at him appraisingly like he’s trying to figure out how much trouble it would be worth to push past him, and finally sighs. Bingo.

Liam waits patiently, knows not to push his luck.

“I don’t think she’ll get over it.” Noel says finally, pauses. “I don’t think _I’ll_ get over it.” Another pause “She blames me. For the whole thing.”

Liam blinks. “What thing?”

“What th-what do you fucking think, you daft idiot?”

Liam blinks again. He hadn’t expected that. “No she doesn’t. Where on earth did you get that idea?”

“She looked me square in the fucking face and said it, that’s how.” Noel says, then grimaces. “Hard to mistake, that.”

He frowns, scrutinizes Noel’s face like he’s not sure he’s telling the truth, although he knows there’s no way Noel would lie about something like this, even though it sounds like the stupidest fucking thing he’s ever heard in his life.

“..I didn’t know.” He finally says lamely,and Noel scoffs from where he’s leaning over the balcony again.

“Yeah, I fucking know, because I didn't tell you. I was trying to not make-“ He gestures vaguely in Liam’s direction, all anger drained out of him and replaced by disappointment that makes him want to shrivel up and die. “-all this worse for you. But you just sat there and thought I was doing alright, huh? Fuck me.”

Liam grimaces this time, guiltily. They both stare out into the woods for a bit, and Liam tries to process and runs through everything that had happened until this moment with an entirely different context.

“That- that’s fucking mental.” He finally says, still struggling to wrap his head around what he’s just heard. “You have to know that, yeah? She’s off her rocker if- she was probably just upset, you know what she’s like. She didn’t mean it, I’m sure of it.”

“You know, that’s exactly what Paul said. Down to the word.” Noel says, shaking his head. “ No, she meant it. I saw it in her eyes. I’m never going to fucking forget it.”

“What- what does she think you were supposed to do? Jesus Christ-“

Noel shrugs, still won’t look at him, but Liam can see just how hurt he really is by the whole thing. "We shouldn't have gone down that alley. And I should have stopped them. That's on me."

"You tried. I- _I_ know you tried. That has to be worth more, yeah? She wasn't there, I was." He stumbles, trying to find the right words to say, although he knows there really aren't any. "It was just bad luck and a bunch of cunts, right? No one's fault but theirs."

“It doesn’t-it doesn’t matter. I don’t think you’ll ever get it. You’re my younger brother. You-“ Noel sighs, rubs at his eyes again. “That bastard was sick, I could see it in his eyes, and he _took_ you. He could have done _anything_ to you, and I- ”

Noel doesn’t say anything for a long while, and Liam can’t think of a single thing to say.

"I didn’t want to dump all this on you, I really didn’t-“ Noel finally starts, clears his throat, pauses again. “I’m gonna have to live with this for the rest of my life. You-you could have fucking died, and it would have been on me. Mam would have blamed me forever, and I don’t-I don’t know what I would have done.”

Sad eyes finally look at him, and Liam wants to cry. “So no, I really don’t think talking to anyone is gonna solve anything. Just - have to deal with it and move on, yeah?”

It feels almost cruel to stop him this time, so he doesn’t, and Noel leaves quietly, and Liam stands at the balcony for a long time wondering why he never learns his lesson about pushing Noel until he cracks.

* * *

He spends the rest of the day in a blur. He drinks a little bit more, finds himself nauseated at the sight of drugs, and stays planted in front of the TV all day in an attempt to distract himself and give Noel a wide berth.

His brother doesn’t show up all day or night, and Liam finds himself constantly thinking about _everything_ as the shit movies on the telly do absolutely nothing to make him feel better. Even the security guys don’t come near him, though he occasionally hears them walking around close by, half wishes they would come interrupt him so he could yell at them and throw a few punches.

He drags himself upstairs when it’s just past nine, bare feet cold against the wood floor, tries not to crash into things in the pitch darkness. Everything is so quiet it’s both peaceful and annoying at the same time, and all he wants is to crash into bed and sleep for hours and hours and hopefully wake up with his head sorted out.

He knows that’s not going to happen, knows he’s going to toss and turn all night until he finds himself wandering around the house aimlessly all night, but he plans to give it a good shot until he spies the light at the end of the long hallway.

Something about it immediately sets off his paranoia, makes him shiver in the chilly air and he stands there and stares at it for a bit with his hand still on the doorknob of his own room. He knows that’s just the bathroom closest to where Noel’s been sleeping, and its only nine. No reason for Noel to not still be awake, just taking a piss.

_You’re being stupid again. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine._

The mantra runs through his head, but it’s useless in the end, and he finds himself padding over towards the light before he’s even thought about it.

The bathroom door is cracked open when he walks up to it, and he peeks his head in, blinking against the dodgy fluorescent lighting, and finds Noel gingerly sipping a glass of water at the sink.

Something’s clearly wrong, and he’s hit with a sharp stab of relief, glad he didn’t ignore his gut instinct even as his stomach shifts uncomfortably. Noel’s skin is flushed and red, face clammy and pained against the bright light, and everything about him looks unsteady.

Noel glances over his glass of water when he notices Liam standing there and grimaces, like he’s dizzy just from moving. He’s still fully dressed too, clothes rumpled and sweaty hair clinging to his forehead.

“What’s it?” Liam says, opens the door all the way, clears his dry throat.

“Summat’s wrong.” His brother says, a little breathlessly, setting down his glass. His hand is shaking. “I think I’m running a fever.”

Liam wordlessly walks in and puts his palm on his forehead, like his mam used to do for him, and isn’t surprised at all to find it hot to the touch. Noel closes his eyes and leans into the coolness, shivers a little bit, and the smell of sweat and vomit assaults Liam’s nose.

“Yer boiling. Are you coming down with summat?”

Noel shakes his head under his palm, and Liam grimaces at the feeling of sweaty skin and hair. “It’s my hand. I don’t know what. It’s on fire.”

Liam glances down at the hand, still casted and strapped, and of course it still looks pristine. He doesn’t doubt something’s going on under there though; for Noel to admit something was wrong was an act of god in itself.

The flash of guilt and frustration that runs through him surprises even him, and he bites down the urge to sigh. He rubs his cheek instead, and Noel straightens up at the movement, slightly embarrassed, and immediately gasps and sways a little. Liam’s jolts out to grab him and barely misses his cast.

“Jesus. Don’t pass out.”

“M not.” Noel groans, face dazed and pinched with pain, blinks at the floor slowly. “Dick.”

Liam gives him a second, wonders if he should take him to the emergency room. He quickly nixes that idea, knows getting Noel to even go would be impossible, not to mention the risk of word getting out about their whereabouts. They can’t risk something like that right after their very publicly known court appearance.

“Come ead then.” He says, still holding onto Noel’s arms. “Get you to bed and I’ll get a doctor in.”

They slowly shuffle to the room Noel had been in, and Liam hovers close. Noel shivers miserably once he’s sitting up in bed, pained dip in his eyebrows worse as he cradles his arm. It’s colder in here than the bathroom, but Liam checks his forehead and swears it feels hotter.

“Fuck. You’re really burning up. Why the hell did you not get someone, you idiot?”

“I was gonna.” Noel protests, reaches over for the discarded blanket at the foot of the bed.

“Ey, no.” Liam chides, slaps his hand away gently. “No blanket, you have a fever.” Noel hisses out an annoyed ‘fucker’ but listens, curls into himself, teeth gritted and shoulders trembling with chills.

Liam races down without another word, finds one of the security guys in the sitting room and snaps at him to call a doctor.

He talks on the phone to the same geezer who's been by every other day to check in on Noel and explains everything, impatiently answers all his questions until he tells him it's likely an infection.

It’s better than what his paranoia had already supplied him with but sounded horrible itself. He holds himself back from barking at the guy to come over _now_ , doesn’t think he can risk pissing him off and refusing to come when Noel’s upstairs looking like death’s warmed over. 

Doctor on the way, he tears apart some drawers looking for a thermometer, finally finds one tucked in the bottom of a small first aid kit and rushes back upstairs. 

He forces himself to slow down to a walk when he gets to the room, and blinks at the now empty bed. Another quick glance and he sees the familiar mop of hair peeking over the side. 

Noel's sitting on the floor curled around a small trash can in his lap, eyes squeezed shut. 

"Ey, yer alright. Yeah, Noel?"

He can't help slipping into what he hopes is a comforting tone as he crouches down in front of his brother. A quick check and Noel's not shivering anymore but he's just as boiling hot as he was before, so Liam knows it's not a good thing. He's curled around the trash can like it's a stuffed animal, he can smell vomit again, and his stomach twists uncomfortably when he spots tears lingering on closed lashes. 

"'Ere." He says, grabs a pillow from the bed and tries to take the trash can away. Noel makes a noise of protest. "I'm putting it right here. Take the pillow." 

Noel blinks his teary eyes open and looks dazed for a few seconds before he relinquishes his death grip on the trash can, curls around the pillow with a miserable moan. 

"Noel? The geezers on his way, you're okay, yeah?"

Noel's shoulders are trembling again, but it’s not chills this time.

"Mm. It really fucking hurts." He hiccups out, miserable and wet. 

_Fuck._ "Your hand?" Noel nods, and Liam looks at the cast again, as if he could tell what was brewing under there. 

"It's alright, he's on his way, says it's prolly just an infection. He'll fix you right up." 

“Yeah. Yeah, I-“ Noel takes another breath, clearly tries to collect himself, but hiccups out another sob, his face crumpling into something Liam can only describe as miserable frustration. “Christ. I just want this to end.”

"It will, yeah? He'll fix it."

“Not just-“ Noel hisses, wipes his eyes, his lip wobbling despite himself. Teary eyes glare accusingly at him.

“I can’t stop thinking about it now.”

“It’ll be okay.”

“No. No, it won’t. Fuck. I was handling it. I was -“ a hiccup “I was finally-“

He sobs into his palm again, and Liam recognizes it would be a very bad idea to try and physically comfort his brother right now, so he doesn’t.

“Why couldn’t you just have left it alone?” Noel whispers miserably.

“I didn’t-“

“Fuck. Fuck me, it’s fine, I’m just blubbering.” Noel says, takes some deep breaths and lifts his head and wipes his eyes again, like he hadn't meant to let his guard down. “Ignore me. It’s the fever talking.”

Liam can't make himself say anything, he finds. Thinks his throat will close up if he even tries, so he avoids blue eyes altogether and holds the thermometer. 

Noel sniffles and wordlessly lets him put it in through chapped lips, and they both sit there in the carefully crafted silence Liam's created. His brother lets his eyes slip shut and props his cheek on the pillow, and Liam's free to take in the sweat matted hair and unhealthy pallor and eyes so dark they look bruised under wet lashes. 

It's such a far cry from the Noel that had given his testimony barely a day ago, pristine in his fancy suit and perfect hair despite the still lingering bruises and tired eyes, voice flawless and steady as he'd recounted all the gory details. He doesn’t think about his own, can still feel that horrible weight in his throat that had gotten worse the more he’d talked, but he can't help remember how bitter and jealous he had felt at how much _better_ Noel was coping with everything.

Looking at him now, he looks like he’s been ripped apart at the seams, the illusion shattered and barely holding himself together, and Liam doesn’t know how he could have been so naive.

The thermometer beeps angrily and Liam blinks back to the situation, wordlessly plucks it out. Tired eyes pop back open and dully wait.

He has to blink at it twice. "Christ, that's high." He blurts out, wonders the next second if he should have softened the blow, but Noel doesn't look surprised at all and lets his eyes fall closed as Liam finally hears the doorbell ring downstairs. 

He meets the doctor at the top of the stairs and rapidly blabs everything he knows and snaps at him as hushed as he can to _fucking do something_.

Noel looks even worse in the bright light that the doctor switches on, barely looks like he’s keeping up as his temperatures checked again and Liam answers all the questions he can on his behalf. The old geezer only looks mildly concerned when he sees the reading which softens some of the anxiety in Liam’s chest, and he lingers uncomfortably while Noel’s cast is cut open, the whirring of the saw that looks like it's something out of a torture chamber harsh in his ears, and even Noel grits his teeth against the noise. 

Liam wishes he'd left once it's off: The entire hand is so pale, marred with ugly purple bruising and stitches across the whole top that are grossly swollen and a very angry red. 

Even Noel gapes at it like he can't believe what he's seeing, and then very clearly stops himself from throwing a punch when the doctor prods at it. It's bizarrely funny despite the seriousness of the situation and how much it clearly hurts judging by the angry groan, but Liam finds himself holding back a laugh at how he clenches a fist and just barely stops himself from swinging. He thinks he would laugh hysterically if he wasn't biting on his lip hard enough to taste blood. 

When he starts cleaning out the stitches, it’s suddenly not funny anymore, and Liam has to leave, Noel’s soft rapid whimpers that sound like sobs ringing in his ears as he gives into his weakness and walks out into the hall. He has to walk a ways down so he can stop hearing them, feels that bubble of _too much_ in his chest again and clenches and unclenches his fists to keep himself under control. He ends up glaring at some generic painting on the wall as hard as he can just to stop himself from thinking about the alley again, refuses to let his mind take him back to it again when he needs to keep it together for Noel’s sake.

Noel’s out by the time he calms himself down enough to go back, hand in a much smaller cast and propped up on a pillow, and the doctor gives him a very long list of instructions and medications, gives Liam a slightly judgmental look that he can’t be bothered to dissect before he leaves without a word.

Liam stands there for a while before he tucks Noel in properly and goes to pass out.

* * *

Noel basically sleeps for the next couple of days, and the same doctor comes back once a day to check on him. They don’t talk much, Liam mainly poking his head in once in a while to either find Noel asleep or awake and watching television looking bored out of his mind. When he’s awake, they make random small talk before Liam leaves again, unable to stay in the same room as him for too long, the mix of shame and guilt and concern too much for him to handle.

Noel and his Mam make peace at some point after a very loud fight over the phone that Liam hears all the way downstairs, but after that Noel talks to her whenever she calls and seems like someone's taken half of the giant weight he’d been carrying off of his shoulders. They only stay a couple more days, the media latching onto the next big story and their team agreeing to let them go home provided they keep some extra security around for a bit. 

They both agree, and the rest of their time passes pretty peacefully. They give each other space, Liam recognizing that he'd gone too far and Noel probably not interested in having another blowout. That's fine by Liam, because as much as it had sucked, the air between them feels clearer now, like they're both on the same plane of understanding. He knows Noel feels it too although he would never admit it, the cunt, but they'd gotten all their shit out in the open and now everything really would be fine.

It’s a month and a half later and he knows he was right. Everything isn’t as raw and painful anymore, and Liam’s been going to therapy and been feeling better and his paranoia is fading by the day, and the two of them have gotten back to their regular sporadic communication, and Noel’s cast finally comes off. He mentions it casually over the phone, like it’s just another day, but Liam can hear the undercurrent of excitement in his voice and smiles and doesn’t tease him about it _too_ much.

The next day, Noel shows up at his house in the middle of the day, and Liam has to blink at the difference. He knows it’s been a long time, but he hadn’t expected Noel to look so..healthy. All the bruising’s faded away and he’s standing there relaxed and happy like nothing had ever even happened.

Liam immediately looks at his hand, and there’s still a soft brace tucked around it, but his fingers are free to move, even though they're weirdly pale, and suddenly the guitar slung over his shoulder makes sense.

Noel bends down a little to meet his eye. “You gonna let me in or what?”

Liam does, but not before he shamelessly gives him a hug and Noel lets him, patiently pats him on the back and doesn’t move until Liam breaks away. They go inside and have tea and Noel plays him a couple of new songs, and by the third one something clicks into place, pieces of a puzzle that had gotten away from each other. Liam listens to it with his mouth suddenly dry, Noel keeping his eyes on the strings as he strums away, but the meaning is unmistakable and it's beautiful.

Noel wordlessly hands him the lyrics when he's done and plays it again, and Liam sings it the second time around, his voice out of practice and Noel stumbling slightly with the brace on his hand, but they both feel it.

It’s the start of something new, something even better, and Liam’s never been one to believe the bullshit about needing struggle to create good art, but he feels it now; it’s raw and so genuinely hopeful it takes his breath away.

They’ve both gone through absolute hell and came out the other side, and now something amazing is just around the corner and hell if anyone or anything is going to stop them.

He knows Noel feels it too as he finally meets his eyes as they go through the song, feels it sizzling at the tips of his fingers just as Liam feels it bubbling in his throat.

It’s going to be a number one.   
  


_Some might say they don’t believe in heaven_

_Go and tell it to the man who lives in Hell_

_Some might say you get what you’ve been given_

_If you don’t get yours I won’t get mine as well_

_Some might say, we will find a brighter day_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this story is over. I'm emotional. This chapter is a monster but hopefully anyone who's followed this to the end likes it! 
> 
> Huge thank you to everyone who left me lovely reviews and helped me with ideas. They meant more than you will ever know <3


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